Silence is golden
by Jantallian
Summary: "You? Keep out of trouble?" Mort Cory is sceptical and for good reasons. Yes, it's Jess he's talking about, but for once it's quite true. At least, most of the time … although Jess has a severe difference of opinion with Slim, Jonesy, Mort, and about half the population of Laramie.
1. Chapter 1

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 **Silence is golden**

Jantallian

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 **1**

 **Breakfast**

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Absolute silence reigned at the breakfast table in the Sherman Stage Stop. From the kitchen, Jonesy couldn't even hear the sound of a chair creak or a knife rattle. He was used to nothing more than a grunt and a growl from Jess in the morning, but to get the same from Slim was almost unprecedented.

 _What the heck had the pair of them been up to_? He'd never known either of them with a hangover so bad they couldn't speak, although with Jess this was a moot point as he never talked much until breakfast was over anyway. _Had they, God forbid, had a real quarrel_? _Surely not_? They were prone to the kind of amicable bickering of those who know each other's quirks extremely well and to the teasing and sparring that you get between siblings. This was scarcely surprising when Jess was the brother in all but blood who filled the gap between Slim and Andy. _Could it be something to do with Andy_? Jess didn't always see eye to eye with Slim on the matter of freedom and discipline, but then, on this subject as on others where they had a real difference of opinion, they treated each other's views with respect, even if it was only after a good fight.

Jonesy sighed and refilled the coffee pot and took it to the table. On closer inspection it certainly looked to be some kind of a fight. Slim wasn't talking because a swollen jaw, split lip and the beginnings of a fine black eye made clear speech difficult. Jess, presumably, was just being Jess.

The silence continued until the level in the coffee pot had fallen considerably, mostly due to Jess, as usual. After a while, he started to say: "I still think -"

Slim glared at him ferociously. His whole demeanour said "Shut up, Jess!", even if he was not up to articulating the words.

Much to Jonesy's surprise, Jess shut up. Admittedly his eyes narrowed and that bright blue gaze transfixed Slim like a skewer, but he didn't argue. And something serious was clearly afoot because he wasn't even eating, just pushing the food around his plate in an half-hearted fashion as if he had forgotten what it was there for.

Jonesy tried to remember the last time Jess had been off his food, but it was like thinking the unthinkable. Nothing short of unconsciousness or serious medical emergency could separate Jess Harper from what he considered proper nourishment. Except ... except if something sufficiently alluring distracted him ... Jonesy was about to open his mouth and act on this conjecture when both young men reached for the coffee pot at the same time.

There was a moment of impasse and then Jess shrugged and let go. "Drink it and get y' thick skull clear! Then start actin' like there's a brain in there!" he suggested irritably.

Slim sloshed some coffee into his cup but did not deign to answer this insult. Jess grunted and grabbed the pot to pour himself yet another refill. It was empty.

The grunt became a savage snarl. Jess jumped to his feet, grabbed the pot again and stormed off into the kitchen. The sound of haphazard rattling and banging assaulted Jonesy's ears. Silence would have been far preferable.

"You break anything out there, boy, an' you'll be washin' up for a month!" he warned.

The kitchen door was kicked open and Jess stalked through with a coffee pot in each hand.

"Here!" He dumped one between Slim and Jonesy and took the other one pointedly to the far end of the table, where he could sit and scowl directly at Slim. "Get that down y' and you might start to see sense!"

"Your kind of sense?" Slim muttered with all the sarcasm he could manage through the split lip. "Since when?"

"Since I ain't fallin' flat on my face!" Jess retorted. "Hell, when you fall, you sure fall hard!"

Jonesy looked from one to the other in perplexity. This looked like a little more than an accidental stumble off the sidewalk.

"Keep your nose out of it!" Slim snarled "Or so help me, I'll break it for you myself and then no-one's going to call you handsome for a long time!"

 _Uh -oh, female trouble_! Jonesy groaned to himself. On the whole, given the relatively short supply of eligible young women in the district, the two young men generally managed to avoid treading on each other's toes. Of course there was the occasional accusation of poaching when one or other got invited to dine by a particularly good cook, but, on the whole, it was good-humoured ribbing. Besides, they had very different tastes in women and Jonesy had rather thought that Jess -

His musings were rudely interrupted by Jess slamming both hands down on the table. "If you think I wanted any part of compliments like those -"

"Yeah, you made that really clear, didn't you?"

"I was bein' polite," Jess protested, assuming his most blameless expression, which unsurprisingly fooled neither of his companions.

"So you say now " Slim sneered. "Don't know why you don't take your own warnings."

"I don't need warning, that's why. I can see what's under my nose."

"Under your nose is the washing up! You can git an' look after the clearing!" Jonesy told him roundly, in an effort to bring the confrontation to an end. Then, seeing Jess was about to object that it was not his turn, the shrewd old cook, for once, made a fatal error of judgment. He took a dim view of Slim getting involved with saloon girls (for such he presumed the dispute was about) and so he turned to the tall, blonde rancher and continued: "Although why, if y' run a ranch, y' can't bring home a nice God -fearing girl with the skills t' help run it and make you a comfortable home -"

"Exactly!" Slim leapt to his feet and slammed out of the door.

A split second later, Jess was after him.

Jonesy sat, stunned and baffled. There was no sound from the yard outside. Presently he stood up with a deep sigh and began to clear away the largely uneaten breakfast. Goodness knows whether they would still be refusing food at midday, but, knowing Jess was already short of one good meal, it seemed unlikely.

He moved slowly and stiffly. Work in the kitchen was waiting. He gathered up the hardly used dishes and carried them out to the sink, all the while listening intently for sounds from the yard.

 **#####**

Slim stormed silently into the barn and grabbed a pitchfork. Jess strolled over and leaned against the door-post, considering: a pitchfork made a pretty effective weapon, even if you only got beaten with the handle. He gave a slight shrug and went to get the wheelbarrow. If Slim wanted to work off his bad temper shoveling manure, he was only too happy to let him get on with it.

Ten minutes later, Slim was pitching the fork savagely and silently into the soiled bedding. Jess had climbed quietly into the loft and pitched down some clean straw for him. Then, satisfied that he'd done his bit, he slid back down the ladder and ambled out to fetch the first team of the day. He didn't make a sound doing it either; the horses knew him well enough to trot up to the gate and stand waiting obediently. Usually this reaction made Slim smile and pull Jess's leg about speaking horse. Today it made him want to use the pitchfork in a manner for which it was definitely not designed.

Jess let the team follow him into the barn without even haltering a single one of them. It was his usual method of proceeding and Slim was never usually bothered by it. This morning the sound of his grinding teeth was mercifully masked by the noise of vigorous brushing, as Jess cleaned up the horses ready for the stage. Slim continued to clean up the unoccupied stalls. It was his turn, leaving Jess to greet the passengers, but he didn't have to like it.

Presently the Texan finished the grooming and strolled casually back to the house to clean up himself - and, knowing Jess, to grab another cup of coffee. Slim was left in the silence with his own thoughts. It was just ironic that Jess was fronting the relay station today and he didn't even care ... if ... maybe ...

Actually Jess cared a lot - about Slim's health and happiness, not to mention his sanity. He was deep in unaccustomed and far from pleasant thought as he stripped off his shirt and struck his head under the pump. It was typical Jess behaviour, in contrast to the neat and practical way Slim would have drawn some water in a bowl.

Looking out of the kitchen window, Jonesy muttered to himself: "Forgotten a towel again!" He stomped off to the linen shelf and intercepted a dripping Jess, who was absent-mindedly wandering in the front door, regardless of the trail of water he was leaving behind him.

"Outside! Git!" Jonesy growled, shoving the missing towel into his hands.

"Huh?" Jess looked positively dazed.

"This your contribution t' washin' the floor, boy?" Jonesy asked sardonically. Cleaning floors was one of Jess's least favourite tasks.

"Huh?"

"Land's sakes, Jess! What's gotten into the pair of y' this morning?"

Jess returned to earth with a visible effort. "Nothin'."

Jonesy regarded him sceptically. "That's a mighty big nuthin if it's got y' both actin' dumb for real! Now git outside an' dry off!"

He watched the young Texan retreat onto the porch and stand staring at the towel as if he had never seen one before . After an pause and further visible effort, he finally began to mop himself vaguely.

The old cook sighed and muttered: "Not in any fit state t' find a clean shirt, I bet!" He went into the bunk room and, with some difficulty due to the state of Jess's drawers, found the requisite garment.

He stuck his head out of the window and yelled: "Y' clean shirt's on the bunk." Then he went back to his preparations for the passengers. He could only hope Jess would come to sufficiently to deal with them and the team change. As for what Slim was doing ...

Slim was leaning on the pitch-fork, regarding the full wheelbarrow with a positively venomous expression. Even if the stage did bring Hope, there was no way he was going to be able to shower and change in time. He was going to be hot, sweaty and stinking of manure. It just wasn't fair!

At this point, his natural sense of justice asserted itself. It was not his habit to whine and complain, whatever the circumstances. And he knew perfectly well that, if it had been Jess's turn for the dirtier tasks, he would just have got on with them, albeit with a lot of grumbling and muttering. And if it had been his own turn to do the smart stuff today, Slim was honest enough to admit that he himself might have been gloating. But it wasn't and Slim was on no fit state to meet the stage or ... anyone on it ...

As these gloomy and embarrassing thoughts consumed him, he heard the rattle and thudding of hooves which heralded the arrival of the dreaded and simultaneously longed-for stage. Slim retreated to the shadow of the doorway; he had no wish to be seen, but could not bear to be in ignorance of what happened if ...

Jess strolled out of the house as the stage rounded the bend. It was coming from Laramie (that was the whole problem), so he had no reason to play his usual game of standing right its the path, as he did when the north-bound ones hurled down the slope from Cheyenne. The lack of opportunity for this blatant exhibitionism gave Slim brief satisfaction, but the stage had halted and Jess was moving to open the door ...

The coach was empty.

Anti-climax hit Slim like a hammer. He wasn't even relieved. His head suddenly started to ache and his bruised jaw throbbed painfully. Maybe it was too much coffee? All Jess's fault for pushing him at breakfast! His mouth was suddenly dry and tasted foul, certainly not fit to -

Slim stopped thinking abruptly, strode across the yard to douse his own head under the pump and went into the kitchen for a glass of water.

Jonesy looked up from his preparations but made no comment. The reaction at breakfast had put him off offering any further advice on the subject of suitable young ladies, at least for the moment.


	2. Chapter 2

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 **2**

 **Cake and Coffee**

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Thus it was that, when a suitable young lady did arrive at the relay station, Jonesy's delight knew no bounds.

She arrived, utterly unexpectedly, in a buggy driven by her brother, that very afternoon. Jonesy was ruling in solitary splendour, Slim and Jess having ridden out, still mutually silent, to drive in a bunch of yearlings whose brands needed checking. He'd been amusing himself with a couple of new cake recipes and the results were cooling in sweet-smelling glory on the rack, while Jonesy put his feet up for a well-earned snooze. He was not, therefore, initially very pleased to be disturbed by the sound of the buggy drawing up outside.

Then a mellifluous young voice exclaimed eagerly: "This is the place, Jago. It says Sherman Stage Stop. I do hope he's at home!"

Jonesy opened one eye. Which 'he' was she referring to? Jago, whoever he was, merely grunted noncommittally in response.

There was the sound of skirts rustling as the young lady descended from the buggy, followed by a timid knock at the door. Jonesy was already on his feet and half way there. His sudden opening of the door caused a squeak of surprise as the girl stepped back abruptly.

"Oh! Who are you?" Her hands, little hands in pristine white lace gloves, flew to her cheeks, which were pink with embarrassment.

"Can I help you, Miss? The name's Jonesy. I work here."

The young lady rapidly recovered her poise and her manners. "Please forgive me, Mr. Jones. That was so rude of me. I was just surprised."

"It's Jonesy, miss. Ain't no-one ever called me nothin' else since the ark sailed."

The girl giggled and two lovely dimples appeared in her plump cheeks. The effect was irresistible!

"Please come in, Miss." Jonesy held the door wide and made a sweeping gesture towards the - fortunately cleared and clean - table. Thank goodness he'd dragooned the still silent partners into doing their share of the domestic tasks after the midday meal. "I was just about to take some refreshment, if you would care to join me?"

The girl turned her head to look over her shoulder at the man who had accompanied her. The movement showed to perfection the soft, slender column of her neck, so creamy compared with the tan which plagued most women in the neighbourhood. It was entrancing.

"May I, Jago?" she pleaded. How could any man resist her?

Jago apparently could. He shrugged and stated briefly: "Supper - sunset."

Whether this was an injunction regarding the duration of her refreshments or a warning not to spoil her appetite, was unclear. Whichever it was, the young lady smiled, dazzling Jonesy with those dimples again, and tripped lightly in.

"Oh! What a lovely rocking chair!" The next moment, she was rocking delightedly, swinging her tiny feet with their slender ankles into the air.

Jonesy hastened to avert his gaze. After all, he was not one of the young men who would be impressed by such revelations. He said: "Just make yourself at home, Miss ... err ..."

"Oh!" Her hands flew to her mouth again. " How rude of me! I'm Hope Robinson, Jonesy. I'm staying with my great aunt Agnes."

"And she is, Miss Hope?"

"Mrs. Mulholland, of course," she laughed.

 _Good heavens_! Jonesy thought, somewhat irreverently, _how did the old bat manage to have so many pretty nieces_? Or maybe they just took after her husband's side? On further recollection of the plain, rotund and balding Mr.. M, Jonesy dismissed this idea pronto. Aloud, he just said: "Is that so, Miss Hope?"

"Not really," a girlish giggle informed him. "We're not actually related, but she was my grandmother's best friend. She just offered to have me stay because ... well ..." The dimples flashed again, as she breathed charmingly, just a little sigh. "Mama was getting tired of being besieged. She said the boys' boots were wearing a hole in the front step!"

They certainly were. No sooner had Jonesy excused himself in order to fetch fresh coffee and the newly made cake than hooves thundered to a halt at the hitching rail and boots did, indeed, rattle the planks of the porch.

Moments later, he found himself having to share his pleasant tête a tête with Miss Hope Robinson, as the room was filled by the well-scrubbed and smartly dressed forms of three of Laramie's most eligible young bachelors. The fact that two of the other young men who definitely fell into this category were somewhere out working the range made Jonesy sigh at the unfairness of life. Mind you, if they still weren't speaking ... and Slim still had that black eye ...

He was abruptly recalled from these speculations. The three young men were not at all pleased to see each other!

 **#####**

Neither were the two young men who rode into relay station yard shortly afterwards. There was a startled gasp from Slim and an almost simultaneous exasperated groan from Jess. This was followed by a near murderous exchange of glares.

"Shut up!" Slim snarled.

Jess's expression morphed into a mixture which blended the exasperation and injured innocence in equal proportions. "I ain't uttered a word to y' since breakfast!" he protested with total truth.

He should have known better by this time than to try the injured innocent on Slim. "You've been shouting with every inch of your scrawny little body!"

Slim should have known better by this time than to use the L-word. Jess's eyes narrowed, his jaw clenched and his hands fisted ready to punch the living daylights out of his partner. But by some miraculous and monumental effort of self-control he just reached out and grabbed Alamo's reins from Slim's surprised hands. "Oh go and get someone else to break that rock solid head of yours - again!"

Slim stared at him. Then his scowl disappeared abruptly and his usual sunny appreciation shone from his face. He seized Jess in a fervent and reconciling hug. "Thanks, pard'ner. You won't regret it!"

"Oh yes I will!" Jess prophesied gloomily and, as it turned out, completely accurately.

But Slim did not hear as he hastened with light feet and an even lighter heart into the ranch house.

He scarcely took in Jonesy playing genial host at the table, although something of the old cook's air of one trying to juggle with rattlesnakes should have warned him. As far as Slim was concerned, however, there was only one person having tea and she jumped up daintily with a little cry of pleasure as he came through the door.

"Oh, Mr. Sherman! I'm so glad. I came all the way out here to make sure that you are alright after the nasty fall you took carrying my trunk up the staircase!"

It was worth a thousand black eyes! And, judging by the looks on the faces of the other three young men, it wouldn't be long before he got them ...

 **#####**

Jess attended to the horses and strolled back, albeit reluctantly, towards the house. He couldn't, right then, think of any task to take him sufficiently far away, so he guessed he would just have to face up to the music.

And music there was. Jonesy was playing the piano gently and a sweet soprano voice was trilling one of the latest romantic ballads. Music was supposed to sooth the savage breast, or so Slim had told him, but somehow Jess just had a feeling that this singing was going to make everything much, much, worse!

Seeing Jago sitting stolidly on the porch, Jess lifted a hand in greeting and made for the back door. Moments later he reappeared, carrying two mugs, rather full of coffee laced with a good quantity of Jonesy's hidden stash of whiskey. He figured they'd need it. He handed one to Jago, before sinking to his favourite seat on the top step.

Jago was no conversationalist. But he looked eloquently at the front door and then at Jess's position in the line of fight or flight. Jess sighed: "Guess y' right!" He moved reluctantly to perch on the hitching rail. Even this was a bit risky if someone decided to help someone else the short way back into their saddle!

Jago lit a cigar and offered one to Jess. It was readily accepted. They smoked and relished their enhanced coffee together in enjoyable peace for some minutes. It did not last long. They were ominously aware that the singing had stopped and been succeeded by the kind of quiet you got just before an earthquake.

With weary anticipation, Jago rose, stubbed out his cigar, pushed his chair back against the wall of the house and deposited his mug safely on it. He walked over to the buggy, every step suggesting that he had his fingers in his ears, although his expression remained impassive. He unhitched the reins, pulled down the folding step, raised his eyes to heaven and waited.

Jess slid from his perch on the rail, deposited his own mug and cigar likewise, sauntered down the steps and selected a spot on the wall suitably far away from the line of the door. He jammed his hat firmly down over his eyes, folded his arms and waited.

They were not disappointed. The earthquake erupted with a series of dull thuds which shook the windows. This was followed by the door slamming open to reveal Slim, holding a rival by the collar in each hand. He ran them smartly off the porch and halted in order to give them a thorough shaking which indicated to Jess - the recipient of many similar ones - that Slim had entirely lost it.

"The next time you want to play a fist duet together, stay out of my house!" he was snarling. "Or do I have to teach you the real meaning of manners when you're in a lady's company?"

This of course was provocation indeed to his two rivals. As soon as Slim let go of their collars, intending to shove them towards their horses, they retaliated at once. The yard dust was raised sky high by a rolling, flailing bundle of arms and legs.

Jess continued to lean against the wall, pushing his hat back a bit to get a better view. He watched with amusement and very little concern, since he would bet his next pay packet that no one was going to get the better of Slim in his present mood.

Jago just watched with his habitual expression of resigned indifference.

When it became obvious that his predictions about the outcome of the fight were right, Jess pulled his hat back down over his eyes, shrugged off the wall and ambled into the house.

Despite the upheaval and fallen furniture, refreshments were still being enjoyed by the original participants. Jonesy was just cutting another slice of his new cake and Hope was prettily protesting that she really shouldn't ... The third young man was slumped on the sofa, clutching a cold, damp cloth to his swollen eye. Black eyes seemed to be a sartorial requirement in present company!

Jonesy glared at Jess, knowing full well the inroads he could make into any kind of baking. "Oh, it's you, is it?" he said grudgingly, in an attempt to put off what would be a devastating assault on his cooking. "Y' can git washed up 'fore y' sit down at this table."

This was blatantly unfair, since Slim had done nothing of the kind, but then Slim was not interested in food. It was something to be said for love in that it certainly made young men cheaper to feed! Jonesy was stunned to find Jess too, for the second time in the day, was not concerned with eating. It really should have warned Jonesy something untoward was in the wind, but, in his own bemused state, he attributed it to Hope's enchanting presence. He just prayed that Slim and Jess were not going to be the next round in the ring, because Slim would not be able to manhandle Jess the way he had done the others and there was, in any case, only so much punishment the furniture could take. His forebodings, however, proved groundless.

"Miss Robinson." Jess touched his hat politely before turning his attention to the young man. "Up!" he ordered ruthlessly, seizing him by the elbow and lifting him effortlessly to his feet. "Y' horse is gettin' lonely!"

This elicited a girlish giggle from Hope. Jess gritted his teeth and ignored it. He steered the young man inexorably towards the door.

"Oh! Goodbye, Mr. Truman, if you really are leaving?"

At this, Truman took Jess by surprise and broke away. He was across the room and kneeling at Hope's feet before anyone could blink.

"Miss Hope, I'll never depart from your side as long as you give me leave to kneel and worship you!"

Both dimples reappeared as Hope beamed at him. Just for a moment, an expression of mingled pity and disgust flashed across Jess's face. Then he picked Truman up by the back of his vest and swung him neatly towards the door once more.

"Find a rug of y' own to do it on!" he advised. "The owner of this one ain't gonna give you permission. Now say goodbye nicely."

"Miss Hope, I adore you, the minutes will be years until I see you again, I will travel the earth to be at your side .."

The young man's declarations faded slightly as he was marched firmly down the steps and were drowned by Jess's deep growl: "Very pretty! But the only place you're travelin' is straight back to Laramie - right now!" Very shortly after, they heard the sound of three sets of hooves thudding away down the road in the direction of town.

Jonesy heaved a sigh of relief. Now, provided Jess behaved, they could continue in a civilised manner and Slim would have an even chance. Much to his surprise, however, as soon as they re-entered together, Jess just picked up the fallen chairs and straightened the rug in front of the fire. Then he touched his hat politely once more and, with a very neutral sounding "Please excuse me, Miss Robinson," proceeded to quit the room.

Slim was left in full possession of the field of courtship. Jonesy wondered very much what was going on in Jess's head that he should concede defeat so easily. 'Defeat', after all, was not in Harper vocabulary, even if he could spell it.

Jess was letting out a pent-up breath as he retrieved his cigar. Jago had already relit his, seeing that his intervention would not be necessary in the fisticuffs ensuing from his sister's friendly little visit. He offered Jess a light from his own. Jess accepted. They leaned against the buggy. They smoked thankfully. Jess appeared to be counting in his head.

When he had got to about 100, his eyes met Jago's. There was an unmistakable plea in them.

Jago stubbed out the tail end of his cigar and ground it under his boot. He gave the distinct impression that it was something else he'd like to be stamping out. He walked over to the house, opened the door and said succinctly: "Supper. Sunset."

With a flutter of shawls and a flurry of muslin, Hope rose to her feet. She turned first to Jonesy, acknowledging his seniority with flattering manners.

"Thank you very much, Mr. Jones. I have so enjoyed your delicious cake."

"It's my delight, Miss Hope!"

Slim stared at his old friend. It was unlike Jonesy to wax lyrical over anything other than a good piano or a new tune. With a shrug of confusion, he turned to their guest, only to find her already clinging to her brother's arm. Much to Slim's chagrin, Jago led her out of the house without another word. He walked her briskly to the buggy and assisted her ascent into the seat with a lack of emotion which would have done credit to an iceberg.

Slim was frustrated and mortified to find his chivalrous intentions going completely to waste. He stood beside the buggy, gazing up with all the devoted concentration he could manage with one black eye.

"Goodbye, Miss Hope. I trust I shall see you again very soon?"

From the background, where Jess was leaning against the porch post in his habitual position, there came a muttered: "Not while we've got a Stage Stop to run!"

Both Slim and Hope ignored this, but Jonesy, who had come onto the porch in order to get a final glimpse of this magical young lady, gave Jess what could only be described as a death glare for daring to imply that the world would not stop turning at her behest.

She, meanwhile, gave that pretty, tinkling laugh (setting Jess's teeth on edge) and dimpled a smile to her captive audience once again. "Oh, Mr. Sherman, I do believe there's a dance on Saturday night!"

Jess gave an audible groan.

Hope turned her limpid brown eyes on him, the slightest of frowns touching her smooth forehead. "Why, Mr. Harper, surely you like dancing? Everyone loves a dance!" It was said with all the fervour of extreme youth.

"Oh, I like dancin' fine!" Jess agreed truthfully. His choice of adjective warned Jonesy and Slim that he was contemplating a rather less social activity.

"But he prefers a good fight!" Jonesy put in, determined to advance Slim's case as best he could, by fair means or foul. "Slim's an excellent dancer, never short of a partner."

He expected Jess to object to this, since, of the two of them, it was usually his lithe grace which caught the eye. There was, however, no reaction, unless a slight tightening of the Texan's already tense jaw could be construed as such.

Slim ignored all this completely. "I'll be there from the opening moment, Miss Hope. Please save the first dance for me."

A faint blush coloured Hope's cheeks becomingly. "I certainly will, Mr. Sherman. I'm sure the others will understand."

"They will!" Slim asserted passionately.

"They will?" Jess murmured sceptically.

"Until Saturday, then," Hope smiled once more at them all. "It will be lovely!"

"It'll be mayhem," Jess prophesied gloomily as the buggy rolled away. But mayhem reared its ugly head long before Saturday!


	3. Chapter 3

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 **3**

 **Mid-Morning Break**

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"Jess, I can't arrest people for falling in love!" Mort Cory glared at his young friend for even daring to suggest a solution which would in fact work extremely well in terms of keeping the peace, not to mention retaining intact the bodily health of numerous young men. It was just totally out of the question!

His erstwhile deputy was sitting on the edge of his desk, glowering and drumming his heels against the side of it with pent-up irritation. Since he was wearing spurs this was not doing a lot of good to the desk.

"I can't do anything!" Mort repeated crossly. "No-one's broken any law."

This was perfectly true. But he had been pacing the main street all morning, deterring trouble by his mere presence, aided by the occasional jangle of handcuffs. Who would have thought that a simple shopping expedition could result in so much potential violence? He was tired and quite out of his normal calm temper. His well-earned break had been interrupted by the persistent Texan, who had drunk half his coffee and eaten far more than his fair share of biscuit, while proposing this impossible scheme. So Mort was in no mood to put up with Jess's mad idea for the wholesale incarceration of all the male populace under thirty.

"Go home and take Slim with you - or you'll be the ones lining my cells!"

"That ain't fair and you know it, Mort!"

"Jess, you've been spoiling for a fight all week!" Mort pointed out. "And Slim isn't exactly acting like his normal, sensible self either."

"Y' can say that again," Jess agreed, "but only about old Hard Rock. I've been the model of a well behaved citizen." He was quite reasonably aggrieved that his self-control and stoical silence had gone unnoticed.

Mort stared at him, suddenly realising the truth of this assertion. "So how come you're the only one in the vicinity who's not taken to such a charming young lady?"

"Oh, Mort! Not you too!" Jess groaned.

"I'm just saying!" A guilty shade of red suffused Mort's tanned countenance.

"You're just as hopeless as all the rest!" Jess told him coldly. "All your patrollin' this morning was just so you could keep your eyes on her, ain't that so?"

If possible, Mort blushed even harder. He made no reply being, like Slim, essentially truthful, but unwilling to bare his soul to Jess. At least, not on this subject. "I can't see what your objection to her is?" he asked, in an attempt to divert the conversation away from his own feelings.

"Scalps!" Jess said succinctly.

Mort's eyebrows shot up. "Scalps? I'm sure she's never been anywhere more frightening than the circus. She's a fine example of gentle, well-brought up womanhood."

"Oh yeah? Well that's what you see. All I see is a whole load of scalps danglin' from her belt!"

"Nonsense!" Mort tried to sound robust and unconcerned at the same time. "How can an innocent little girl like her possibly be serious about …" he almost balked at the word: "men?"

"She ain't," Jess agreed. "She's just enjoyin' all the attention and everyone runnin' after her. Collectin' proposals like the Sioux collect scalps. There's nothing in it more than that. No real feelings, no idea what she's doin', nothing but a lot of vanity and empty-headed flirtin'."

Mort looked him in amazement. "Since when did you get so picky, Jess Harper? Seems you've been happy enough to run around with plenty of empty-headed women – or so I recall?"

Jess glowered at him and said: "Women, not girls. And not so empty-headed they don't know what they're offerin'!"

"I don't think I want to know about that," Mort told him disapprovingly. "Not if you mean you're just not interested in simple fun."

"That simple fun is settin' half of Laramie at odds with the rest," Jess snapped. "Life's turnin' into one long scrap! All I want to do is make sure Slim doesn't get his head or his heart broken."

"He's old enough and big enough to look after himself," Mort retorted. "And you know he won't thank you for trying to act otherwise."

Jess heaved such a doleful sigh that Mort felt momentarily quite sorry for him. "I've been keepin' my mouth shut as much as I can. _And_ I've been keepin' out of trouble, as you'd well know if y' bothered to pay attention."

"You? Keep out of trouble?" Mort looked as though he had just seen a flight of well-scrubbed pink pigs alight outside his door.

"Yeah, me. Next time y're called out, it ain't gonna be me at the bottom of it!"

Mort was just about to retort that he usually found Jess at the _top_ of whatever fight was going on, when mayhem did indeed erupt outside. Furious yells rang in the air like the opening notes of a symphony, there were reverberating bass crashes denoting attempts to pass through solid doors without opening them first, the tinkle of broken glass formed a soprano line and Mort provided the percussion by grabbing a handful of handcuffs which rattled musically against his rifle.

"Come on!" he snapped.

"What, me?" Jess was wearing his most guileless expression again, just for the sake of getting a rise out of Mort. "I'm the one keepin' out of trouble, remember?"

"You're the one who's supposed to be keeping Slim alive, aren't you?" Mort reminded him.

He didn't need to, because Jess was already out of the door in front of him before he had uttered the last breath of his joking protest.

They looked up the street. And down the street. The entire surface seemed to be a mass of rolling, thumping, struggling bodies – a sight with which Jess, for one, was becoming nauseatingly familiar. Through the dust-cloud thus raised, Mrs. Mulholland and her charming teenage visitor could be seen beating a retreat into the doorway of the hotel. No-one actually seemed to be dead yet, but the fight was fierce enough for some mad fool to resort to gun-play at any moment.

And in that moment, Slim appeared, as Jess had expected, in the alleyway alongside Mort's office, which led to the feed merchant's store.

And in another moment, Jess had launched himself into a flying tackle, bringing his sometime boss to an abrupt halt, flat on his face in the dust.

And in that moment, there were sixty seconds of impotent, speechless fury.

Only sixty seconds.

"Jess, what the hell are you doing!"

Several perfectly obvious replies flitted through Jess's brain, before he settled on the one least likely to incur severe physical retaliation. "Keepin' that man across the street with the shotgun from blowin' your head off!" This was not entirely in keeping with the facts, since the man in question was waving the said gun around quite at random. "No, don't look, you idiot!"

Jess rammed Slim's face firmly into the dust, figuring that, as it had already lost an encounter with a newel post and several stairs, he was unlikely to be doing too obvious additional damage. "I don't care if y' head is solid marble, I ain't figurin' on being splattered with the chippings when he puts a bullet through it."

"Let … me … breathe!" Slim gasped, because Jess, knowing that his partner had the advantage of both weight and height, was not above using underhand tactics to keep him prone. "No! Let me up!" He gave a convulsive heave, struggling to throw Jess off, but the Texan had Slim's arm twisted wrenchingly against his shoulder-blades and for good measure was applying his full weight across the back of Slim's knees.

"Stay put, Rock Head!"

"I need to fight for her! For her honour!" Slim really had got it badly this time.

"Y' need to keep out of it and let them all get arrested for disturbin' the peace. Then you'll have far less competition," Jess told him with indisputable logic.

"You think?"

"I know. Now let's wait for a lull and we'll make a dash for the Livery. The sooner we get home, the sooner Jonesy can start patchin' up your face for Saturday night!"


	4. Chapter 4

.

.

 **4**

 **Saturday Night Supper**

.

Saturday night came in a blaze of glory. Glowing lamps hung in clusters around the dance floor, bunting fluttered between the supports and the sweet smell of massed flowers was only outdone by the perfumes of the ladies and the scented hair oil of the gentlemen.

Mrs. Mulholland and her entourage were among the earliest arrivals. As self-appointed First Lady of Laramie, not to mention the wife of its only bank manager, she had her position to maintain and that included the best, most comfortable and least draughty seats. A flick of her finger sent her husband scurrying towards the refreshment table to secure their supper, but he had scarcely moved a yard when a positive phalanx of young men surrounded her party, plying cool drinks and assorted edible items.

"No, thank you!" she snapped in exasperation. "Go away!"

Such was Mrs. Mulholland's force of personality, that the love-lorn young bucks of Laramie beat a hasty retreat. But not for long. Although studiously ignoring them, she had a distinct impression out of the corner of her eye that a queue was forming. Fortunately she spotted nice young Mr. Sherman and, since he was not ludicrously armed with redundant refreshments, was quite ready to beckon him over – at least, ready after a swift glance all around assured her that the unconscionable reprobate he employed was nowhere in the vicinity. This was distinctly unfair to Jess, who had been instrumental not only in rescuing her and her husband from outlaws but also preventing a serious robbery at the bank.

Jess, however, had spotted Jago leaning gloomily against a convenient wall on the far side of the dance floor and made a bee-line for him. Jago silently extended a hand with the inevitable cigar. Jess flicked a match and the two of them lit up. They might as well enjoy something before the evening began to deteriorate. Certainly neither of them had stomach for eating supper.

Slim had succeeded, thanks to the sponsorship of Mrs. Mulholland, in seeing off all rivals and securing his first dance with Hope. He was hopeful that it would not be the last. In fact he had no intention of yielding his place to anyone.

The band were still in that 'beloved-to-musicians and a pain in the ear-drum to anyone else' stage of tuning up. Their attention, alas, was far from focused on their instruments and the leader had considerable difficulty in dragging their combined gaze away from the Mulholland entourage and back to the sheet music in front of them. Most of them could probably have played far better without it, but the leader felt that professional prestige required a show of musical expertise. Almost immediately, such considerations were driven from his head.

Hope rose daintily from her seat beside her aunt and left Slim standing looking after her in some bewilderment. She ran lightly up to the platform where the musicians were assembled and whispered something in the enraptured ear of the conductor. Then she flitted back to her seat and her partner. Jess and Jago exchanged uneasy glances.

The band struck up for the first dance, but, instead of playing the lively introduction to a good, old-fashioned traditional square dance, the music was romantic and compelling, sweeping and swirling the dancers into the graceful turns of the waltz. Slim led his lady out. For the opening bars at least, they were sole rulers of the dance floor.

Jess and Jago exchanged another of those harassed glances, after which they turned their attention to the dancers. Jess, for one, was thinking over-time - not one of his favourite occupations. Still, at least conflict had not erupted into direction action – yet. But it was only a matter of time before the thwarted swains realized that the style of dance had effectively blocked them from having a turn with the lady of their dreams. Meanwhile, a host of disappointed and undoubtedly angry young ladies remained on the shelf.

All this, Jess took in in an instant. He surveyed the older spectators and the couple waltzing together in solitary splendour. Then he reviewed the queue of young men and, on the opposite side of the dance floor, the massed ranks of disappointed young women. He muttered: "Youngest? … Richest? … Prettiest? … Most willing …?"

He appeared to come to a decision and, turning to Jago, hissed: "Just follow m'lead!" He walked out on to the dance floor. Jago was far from eager to engage in any terpsichorean activity, but he had formed an unspoken alliance with Jess. He followed.

They were half way across, neatly side-stepping to avoid Slim and the damsel of his dreams, when Jess issued a further instruction: "Ask y'aunt."

 _Huh?_ Jago said nothing, but pain-stricken disbelief was worth a thousand words.

"No way will she dance with me," Jess informed him out of the corner of his mouth, with perfect truth. "You're related. She ain't gonna slap y' into the ground."

Jago looked far from convinced about this, but nonetheless advanced bravely to where the Mulhollands were seated.

Meanwhile Jess directed his steps towards the seat of a small, shrewd and indomitable lady, who would never admit to the years that she had nor give away the many confidences she received. The town's seamstress was an excellent choice, being confidant to all the young ladies in the vicinity, and, in addition, she was one of Jess's favourite people.

"Miss Eli, will you do me the honour?"

"I most certainly will, Mr.. Harper!" Miss Eli was on her sprightly feet the instant he asked. Not only was he quite her most favourite young man, but she perceived the way his mind was working to avert disaster and she would give him all the support in her power. Just dancing with him would be reward enough.

Jago, obedient to orders, was advancing towards martyrdom as Jess and his partner swept by. He was, however, saved by an unexpected turn of events. Mr. Mulholland had been watching his wife's protégé dominate the empty dance-floor. He had nothing against Slim Sherman, whom he regarded (a bank manager's compliment) as a sound and sensible young man. But he could see that Hope could not be allowed to rub her success quite so obviously in the faces of her contemporaries. He exchanged a long look with his wife. There was nothing for it, but to intervene.

As Mr. M rose to lead his lady out on to the floor, he was prevented by the courteous but determined intervention of the Reverend William Fitzwilliam, the local minister. Though, if he admitted to his deepest desires, the reverend much preferred a good fight, he could see that the situation was going to get out of hand very rapidly unless something was done. _For once_ , he considered, _young Harper had the right idea_. Accordingly, he bowed politely to the bank manager and led his wife out to dance. Mr. Mulholland, conscious of his duty however onerous, invited one of his wife's best friends and Jago scooped up another. Soon they were followed by other stalwart, mature males from the local community, who were fed up with having to give place to the young bucks with their starry-eyed quest for a fairy tale ending; their redoubtable ladies, of like mind, were also not averse to showing that they too could execute the once scandalous steps of the waltz.

Soon the fairy tale couple, waltzing in paradise to the most romantic music, found their splendour eclipsed as they were surrounded by a deep crowd of dancing couples, none of whose average age would have made thirty. Meanwhile, on the sidelines stood the thwarted young men and the disappointed, indignant or downright jealous young ladies they had rejected. At least the objects of their wrath were thoroughly hidden from view.

Mort Cory, meanwhile, was viewing the situation with a keen eye to keeping the peace. It looked as though this first dance would pass off without incident, mostly due to a quick-thinking young Texan, but it could not last for ever. He began to move quietly towards the platform on which the band were playing.

At length, the waltz did draw to a close. It was the longest dance in history or the shortest, depending on the disposition, age and agility of the dancer.

"Nice move, Jess!" Miss Eli whispered in his ear once the music had stopped.

"Not as good as your dance moves, Miss Eli!" His eyes twinkled with the mischief that she had been pleased to share with him. "You're a life-saver. Thank you."

"Any time your life wants saving, young man, you can rely on me," she assured him as he led her back to her seat.

Jess bowed politely over her hand. "Miss Eli, I'm gonna need you to hold my hand all night! But right now, will you excuse me? I need a shot of whiskey even more!"

"Get along with you!" He was dismissed with a friendly tap on the arm, followed by a subtle push.

As he turned to find Jago, Jess saw that Mort had reached his objective, the conductor, and was engaging in some serious instructions. Jess grinned and paused for a second to see whose influence was the greater – youthful prettiness or a cold steel badge? The conductor didn't have a chance, as the sheriff's orders were immediately reinforced by the minister and the bank manager, both of whom had had the same idea, once they had recovered their breath from the waltz.

As a result, for the next dance the expected kind of music struck up and the youngsters took the floor. Slim had not let go of Hope, so he was going to be her main partner, but this time other ambitious young men would have at least part of the dance with the desired one, and the young women of the town would not be left out so blatantly. Another grin crossed Jess's face as he imagined some of the conversations which were going to take place during the dance between previously attentive young men and never before rejected young women!

Jago had returned to propping up his wall. It seemed to be his mission in life. Or it might be that he needed the support after expending so much energy dealing with the turbulent events which surrounded his sister. Jess gave him a wink and tipped an imaginary glass. The square dance was going to last long enough for them to seek solace in the uncustomary quiet of the town saloon.

 **#####**

By the time they returned, the dance was in more or less normal full swing. The atmosphere was tense, but not yet cataclysmic. Jess refused to let Jago return to his wall and dragged him over to sit with Miss Eli. She was naturally delighted to have the more or less undivided attention of two good looking young men, who plied her with victuals and refreshing beverages, though they themselves appeared to be sustained solely by recourse to whiskey. The three of them scrutinized the dancers with a mixture of amusement (Miss Eli), apprehension (Jess and Jago) and a kind of disbelieving comprehension. Jess eventually expressed this, as he watched Hope flit from partner to partner with complete delight in each of them and not a little pleasure in the chaos boiling in her wake.

"How does she do it?" His brow was furrowed with disapproval. It seemed irrational. Hope was certainly not the richest or most accomplished girl on the dance floor and she was not even the prettiest. She was petite and slightly plump, her hair, although shining, was a common enough brown and her eyes sparkled with no more allure than any other girl present.

Jago just shrugged. Miss Eli chuckled.

"Why, Jess! Don't you think she's a worthy object of any man's attention?"

"No!" Jess said bluntly. "She's nothing to look at and she can't talk about anything but herself. She's ready enough to trail men after her skirts, but she's no idea what that really means!" He caught himself abruptly, realizing he was in the company of one of his subject's relatives. "Sorry, Jago – but it's true! What is it drawin' them all like bees round a honey pot?"

Jago merely shrugged again. Miss Eli chuckled again.

"That's easy. She's the perfect girl every boy would be proud to take home to his mother."

Jess refrained from pointing out that Jonesy and Mort and even Slim were hardly boys. He just snorted. "My ma'd show the pair of us the door if I did that!"

Miss Eli had maternal feelings for Jess as well as some which certainly weren't. "Your ma was obviously a sensible, practical woman who raised her son to expect more from a wife than just a pair of light heels and a little light housekeeping," she observed.

"Miss Eli!" Jess's face was suddenly flooded with embarrassment.

Miss Eli took no notice. "And if I'm not much mistaken, _you_ aren't going to settle for a woman you have to look after and cosset every moment of your life."

"Miss Eli!" Jess protested. "I ain't aimin' to get married."

"I'm sure you're not," she told him with a twinkle in her eye. "Just looking for a life-partner, if I know anything about it." And she knew a great deal.

It took a lot to shut Jess up, but this reduced him to silence once again.

Miss Eli twinkled at him affectionately. "There's a lot to be said for wholesome naivety, you know."

"And a whole lot more for brains and courage and …" Jess stopped abruptly. For some inexplicable reason, the words 'cliff-climbing' had come into his head. He shook this appendage vigorously and hastily amended: "And bein' old enough to know what life's about."

"Yes, indeed." Miss Eli had plenty of experience of that in her former capacity as a school-teacher and her present role as the town's seamstress. She let it be, for now. Jess didn't deserve any more teasing, with the weight of concern for Slim's safety and sanity on his shoulders.

The evening seemed interminable to the worried elders, or at least, most of them; Miss Eli derived a great deal of enjoyment from her two young escorts. But at long last – and after Jess and Jago had made more than one foray back to the saloon - the dance drew to a close. This was the moment which Mort Cory and Mr. Mulholland and the Reverend Fitzwilliam and Jago Robinson and, most of all, Jess Harper had been dreading.

At least there was no last waltz. The dances had all been strictly communal and the final one was no exception. To give Mr. Mulholland full due, he had devised an exit plan and executed it with aplomb. Since this involved him dancing the last set with his young visitor, it was no mean feat for his feet and no light undertaking either. His spouse, meanwhile, had gathered together all the miscellaneous accoutrements that women considered necessary for a Saturday night dance and had also sent Jago, whom she re-commandeered, to have their carriage draw up as close as it could.

As a result, Mr. M was able to sweep his young partner off the dance floor and into the carriage as soon as the music stopped. Before the suitors could draw breath, they were once again thwarted by their elders! The carriage disappeared swiftly down the main street, heading for home.

 **#####**

Home was uppermost in the minds of everyone who was not totally smitten with Hope Robinson. Parents hastened to remove their still fuming daughters forthwith and the rest of the gathering also dispersed with rather more alacrity than was usual after a pleasant evening.

Maybe it hadn't been an entirely pleasant evening? The atmosphere was still bordering on the dangerous as, for once left in a cloud of dust not of their own making, the young men milled about in a restless crowd.

"Break it up, boys!" Mort's commanding voice rang out across the now deserted dance floor. "You've all got homes to go to."

His intervention would have worked fine, had it not been for human clumsiness. Turning too quickly in order to get out of the crowd, one young man stepped heavily on another's toes. Well, they'd been doing that metaphorically all evening. The pain and surprise caused the victim to stumble and crash heavily into a third. It was like watching dominoes fall. Soon the veneer of civilized behaviour was ripped away by the urges of much more primitive instincts. Every man there was rattling antlers with the next like stags in the rutting season.

Jess scowled and sighed and gritted his teeth and drew his gun. Jago looked slightly alarmed until Jess reversed his hold to grip the barrel and it became obvious that, whatever else he was going to do, he was not going to fire into the crowd. Catching the movement out of the corner of his otherwise extremely busy eyes, Mort also registered with relief that he was not going to have to risk disarming the town's fastest gun at this point.

Slim was in the middle of the melee and, characteristically, he was disregarding his own powerful feelings in order to try to stop the fight between his rivals. He was yelling a warning, doubtless about the immanence of arrest for the combatants, but his voice was totally drowned. Seeing that this was of no use, he grabbed a couple of them by the scruff of their necks and practically banged their heads together, thereby reducing the odds somewhat. He never even felt the gun-butt as it tapped him neatly on the back of the skull.

Jago was close behind Jess and together they dragged Slim's limp and unwieldy body out of the crowd and away into the relative peace of the street.

"Hotel," Jess explained succinctly.

They carried Slim along the boardwalk until, just outside the hotel, he began to come round.

"Was happnin?" he slurred.

"You're goin' to have a nice long sleep in a nice quiet bed," Jess informed him.

"Shleep?" Slim considered this and seemed to come to the conclusion that it was a good idea.

"Yeah. Come on." Jess hitched his partner's arm across his shoulders and steered him towards the door, giving Jago a heartfelt and grateful grin as he mouthed "Thanks!" over Slim's drooping head. Jago just nodded and shrugged and sloped off in the direction of the saloon again.

Getting Slim up the hotel staircase was no easy feat. For one thing, he was inclined to stumble over his own feet and tread heavily on Jess's, given half a chance. He also seemed to assume that they had been out drinking and were now in that convivial state where bursts of cheerful song and hilarious jokes were bound to emerge.

This misapprehension made Jess thankful for small mercies. On the other hand, it didn't help to make their progress silent nor enhance their respective reputations.

"Will you shut up!" he hissed, manfully shoving Slim up another few steps nearer the top. The sooner they got there, the better. After all, Slim had already had one fall down a staircase when he was tripped up by the Mulholland's cat. Jess was not in a hurry to repeat the experience with himself in the role of the squashed cat.

Slim blinked at him owlishly. "Y-ou joking? 'S a good night. W' w-ere having fun!" He lurched up another couple of steps, enabling Jess at last to push him to the top.

"Save it!" Jess ordered, restraining his urge to protest that fun had nothing to do with his evening. "Silence is golden, remember?"

So Slim himself had said somewhat more forcibly when dealing with an inebriate Jess and his inability to climb into the top bunk after a night on the town.

"'S golden!" Slim agreed.

He proceeded to tip-toe in an exaggerated manner along the corridor until Jess grabbed him and turned him in the direction of the door of their room. With a bit of a struggle and a couple of crashes, they got the door open and both of them stumbled inside. Jess reflected that it had been considerably easier on those occasions, albeit infrequent, when they had actually been drunk!

Fortunately Slim managed to divest himself of his best jacket and his tie before falling thankfully on to the bed. As his head hit the pillow, his eyes flashed open in pain.

"M'head hurts."

"Yeah?" Jess started to undo the buckles on Slim's boots, which were doing no favours to the counterpane.

"Someone hit me!" Slim exclaimed with sudden lucidity. He sat up and rubbed the back of his head.

"Yeah? Thought your head was too hard to feel anything!"

"Why would anyone want to hit me?" Slim was indignant.

Jess appeared to consider deeply. "Well, you're a young, handsome, successful rancher and y' ain't exactly unpopular with a certain young lady."

A blissful expression crossed Slim's face momentarily, but he was not satisfied. "No-one would slug me while I was dancing!"

"No. Now get y' shirt off, will y'!" Jess was getting impatient for the rest he considered he was fully entitled to after such a nerve-wracking night.

Slim obediently pulled his dress shirt over his head, but he continued to protest. "It's ungentlemanly to hit a man from behind when he's just being sociable."

"Pants!" Jess was inexorable, divesting Slim of the hindering garment with a brisk yank. "And y' can take your own socks off!"

Slim did so absent-mindedly. He was still puzzling over his experience as he rolled into bed and pulled up the quilt. "Must've hit me hard. Can still feel it."

"Yeah? Well, I guess some fella just thought y'd be better out of that fight and gave you a tap on the head to discourage you."

"Fight?" Slim's brow wrinkled. "Don't re-memb-er any fi-i-ght." He yawned prodigiously and turned over on his side.

"No, I don't expect y' do!" Jess looked down at him with what was rapidly becoming a habitual expression of exasperated affection. Then he pulled off his own clothes and relaxed thankfully into the cool sheets. At least Slim's catechism had stopped and been replaced by the sound of gentle breathing, which hardly disturbed the surrounding silence at all.

After a remarkably short enjoyment of this peace and quiet, Jess groaned and sat up. Reluctantly he forced himself out of the comfortable bed. Against all habit, he gathered up their scattered clothes, sorted them and hung them carefully over the backs of a couple of chairs. There would be hell to pay from Slim if it looked as though they'd slept in them the next day.


	5. Chapter 5

**5**

 **Sunday Lunch**

And the next day was Sunday.

They attended church, of course. Slim would not for the world have missed an opportunity to be in Hope's presence. Jess would have given the world to be peacefully drinking a pot of strong coffee at home in the relay station, but figured that it would be as well to keep an eye on proceedings in case a religious atmosphere did not discourage courtship contests. In any case, he might, if things turned out really badly, need to enlist the Reverend Fitzwilliam's help in preventing a totally unsuitable marriage.

Mort turned up out of long experience of the fact that trouble could erupt in the most unlikely places. His cells had been full overnight of disheveled and battered young men, but he had released them all at dawn with an injunction to go home, clean up and present themselves sober and respectable at the service – or else. There really wasn't much else he could do, since it was impossible to apportion blame for the riot to any one individual. They could all just do penance in the form of the Reverend Fitzwilliam's sermon instead!

Thus it was partially Mort's fault that the church was packed to the walls and deadly enemies were forced into close proximity and potential, but unlikely, Christian amity. The Reverend Fitzwilliam took for his text _the Book of_ _Exodus, chapter twenty, verses one to seventeen_. He dealt with each commandment in turn. He dwelt specifically and in detail on the tenth. He preached for ninety five minutes. The seats were getting unconscionably hard. So were the hearts and probably the immortal souls of some of his congregation.

Whatever the Reverend Fitzwilliam's intentions to reprove his flock into a state of brotherly love and mutual tolerance, he succeeded only in aggravating the situation to the extent that more fisticuffs almost broke out in the church itself. Every man, predictably, saw himself in the position of the one whose possessions (or putative possessions) were being coveted and not one of them saw themselves in the role of covetee.

Mort made it first to the door. He stood firm and authoritative, every inch of him radiating a commandment as clear as any of Moses' to the rest of the town to mind its manners and keep the peace. The fact that he had picked up his rifle from the porch might have had something to do with the degree of co-operation he achieved.

Jess, meanwhile, was struggling to get Slim's co-operation in returning home. This was despite Andy having joined them after being brought in to church by the parents of the school friend with whom he had just spent several days. Slim's bemused disregard for his brother's presence was causing Jess even more serious concern. It was utterly unlike Slim not to make Andy the first and most important motivation for his actions. Now, he seemed to be suggesting that Jess and the boy should ride home, while he stayed another night in Laramie. Jess was within an ace of slugging him again, when help came from an unexpected source.

"Ah, Slim, I'm glad to see you this morning." It was Mr. Mulholland, radiating an authority equal to if rather different from Mort's. "Could you get your books for the Stage Line in order and bring them to the bank on Wednesday morning, please? Mr. Greeves, the stage-line agent, is going to be passing through and says he hasn't time to stop at every relay station to go over the paperwork. He's asking everyone to bring the books in to Laramie so that he can go over them all in one place."

"Sure, I'll do it right away." Slim knew he had no option. Greeves was a notorious nitpicker and only too willing to find fault with the accounts of those who held the stage-line franchise.

Jess felt like turning back into the church and falling to his knees in fervent thanks to the Almighty for thus solving his problem – or at any rate, solving this part of the problem. But he was willing to say his prayers on horseback if it got Slim out of Laramie and back to the comparative safety and sanity of the ranch.

And so he did as they rode home together. The events of the last twelve hours had given not only his prayers but also his appetite a cutting edge. He hoped Jonesy had done them proud in the matter of lunch, because somehow the catering had been rather fancy and insubstantial of late. Slim might not be eating much, but Jess was always willing to mop up whatever extra there was.

 **#####**

"Gee, Jess, what's goin' on with Slim?"

It hadn't taken Andy more than a few hours and an abnormally silent Sunday lunch to realise that the atmosphere of his home was not as he had left it just over a week ago. Over the following days, this became even more obvious. He was used to his elders wrangling and ribbing each other and horsing about and occasionally getting into fights. He'd never known Slim not to talk to Jess, not even about how they would carry out the next day's work. Jess seemed to be operating purely by habit and his brother was wrapped in a dream, barely answering when spoken to. Admittedly he was busy working on the books, which always required total concentration, but even so he never usually let it stop him relaxing with the rest of them in the evening. Now all he seemed to do was sit on the porch, gazing at the moon. Andy flirted for a moment with the idea that he might be have been bitten by a vampire bat or a werewolf, but Sherman common sense soon eclipsed this enticing fantasy.

"Jess!" Andy repeated. _Goodness, the two of them seemed to be at it_! "Slim? Not talking? What's up?"

Jess looked up from the gun he was cleaning. He considered Andy thoughtfully and decided he was old enough to face the facts of life. "He's in love."

"Oh!" Andy would have infinitely preferred the vampire or the werewolf alternative. He knew that both young men periodically disappeared on assignations with various young women, but regarded it very much like rain – a nuisance, but unavoidable. This was the first time that it had had any serious effect on daily life. "Is she pretty?"

"Everyone seems to think so," Jess admitted, stretching his generosity to acknowledge an attractiveness to which he himself was immune.

"Oh." Andy thought some more. "And fun?"

"If you like her kind of fun," Jess conceded.

"Huh! Take no notice, Andy," Jonesy intervened. "He's just actin' jealous because she ain't fallen head over heels for him. She's charmin'!"

"Can she cook?" Andy was nothing if not realistic. He also knew that with Slim, and particularly Jess, the old saying about the way to the heart was true.

"Ain't seen her do anything practical yet." Jess was struggling hard not to let his animosity show, because Andy deserved the right to make up his own mind.

"She's a very accomplished young woman," Jonesy corrected. "Sings like an angel. And dances like one too, so y' brother says. An' she can appreciate good cooking, that's for sure."

Like Slim, Andy regarded him with surprise. He'd known Jonesy all his life and could scarcely recall an occasion on which he had been so in favour of a member of the female sex.

"But Jess doesn't like her!" Andy knew his friend well enough to see through Jess's careful comments.

"He's just got his nose put out of joint, that's all!" Jonesy retorted roundly. "Ain't got the good taste of your brother and don't like it when someone comes along who's a cut above those saloon girls –"

"Jonesy!" Jess snapped. "That's enough." He knew Slim would not approve of discussing the relative merits of saloon girls and politely brought up young ladies with Andy.

"Well, you ain't doin' nuthin' to help him court her, that's for sure," Jonesy said with more partiality than tact.

Jess could have been pardoned for pointing out the fact that he had more or less kept his mouth shut on the subject, prevented Slim being lynched by his rivals on more than one occasion and done his best to make sure that he turned up to church looking like the model citizen he was. It was hard to be criticized by Jonesy, not just because Jess had a deep affection and respect for him, but because he had been relying on his shrewd counsel and knowledge of all things Sherman to help them out of this dilemma.

This was not to be.

Andy let the subject drop. He had sufficient explanation and was not, at this stage in his development, particularly interested in girls or romance or the desires and frustrations of his elders. Jonesy considered Jess had been sufficiently put in his place to ensure his silence on the subject for at least the next twenty four hours. Jess resigned himself to the fact that he was not going to have Jonesy's wisdom and support in saving Slim from the snares of Miss Hope Robinson.

Slim just sat on the porch, blissfully happy in anticipation of meetings to come and blissfully unaware of the emotions he was stirring up in his family. It was a kind of tribute to Hope's influence that she could lure Slim so far from his characteristic behaviour and the fact that this happened at all was at least partly due to his own generous and friendly nature, which was always ready to see the best in everyone – not least if they were pretty.

So life continued at the Sherman Stage Stop much as it usually did, except for a great deal of muttering over the accounts books, a great deal of upheaval and cleaning of the premises, an excess of cake-baking and a great deal of silence on the subject of eligible young ladies. But Jess was determined to leave no stone unturned, no bull unroped and no mustang unbroken. In other words, he made up his mind that in this situation a mere man needed to enlist some really professional help.


	6. Chapter 6

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 **6**

 **Stirring the Cauldron**

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"What am I gonna do, Miss Eli?"

She regarded, with a bright twinkling eye, the young man who had been pouring his heart out to her for the last ten minutes.

"Enlist Agnes Mulholland!"

"Huh?" If she had suggested Jess go three rounds with an angry grizzly he could not have looked more alarmed. But he had appealed for her help and he was not in a position to disregard her advice, even if he had been so disrespectful as to do so.

"Don't worry! I'll come with you."

This was just as well. Jess Harper, despite the ingenuity and impudence perfected by a life of drifting, would not, on his own, have passed the threshold of the Mulholland residence. Indeed, they were lucky to make it past the front yard, where the besieged Mulhollands had taken the drastic step of loosing the guard dogs in order to keep would-be wooers away.

But it took more than a guard dog to deter Miss Eli and, in any case, her authoritative schoolmistress tones reduced them to quivering obedience at once. Jess was just prepare to risk anything in order to resolve the situation, even if Mrs. Mulholland did not want him ever to darken her doorway. As a precaution, when she delivered her calling card, Miss Eli took care not to mention her escort until it was too late and they had been ushered into the unsuspecting hostess's drawing room.

Miss Eli seized the initiative. "Agnes! We need your help!" She advanced with both arms open in appeal and Agnes Mulholland had little option but to exchange a restrained and ladylike embrace.

"Do sit down."

Miss Eli at once took a place on the settle, but Jess remained standing dutifully behind it. No doubt he felt slightly safer with something solid between him and the potential wrath of Laramie's leading lady.

"Now, Agnes, I know that you and dear Herbert are aware of the difficulties which have arisen socially in our community because of the penchant of the young men of the town for your niece."

"She is not my niece!" Mrs. Mulholland corrected coldly. It did not bode well for their enterprise.

"Young Hope, then. Whatever she is, she is causing considerable problems and setting young men who have been perfectly good friends hitherto at each other's throats."

"And I suppose that you have come to sponsor your …" Mrs. Mulholland looked at Jess and blanched visibly, "your … protégé in this matter and to advance his suit over that of the charming Mr. Sherman!"

"Hell, ma'am, the only suit I've got is the one I ain't wearin' right now!" Jess blurted out. He was so unnerved as to forget grammar, propriety and the fact that Mrs. Mulholland had absolutely no sense of humour.

"Is that so?"

"Yes, ma'am!" There could be no more fervent affirmation than if he had been pleading for his life.

"Jess has no interest whatsoever in your – I mean in Hope," Miss Eli stated firmly, "except in so far as it is his heartfelt wish to prevent further violence and limit, if possible, the unfortunate effect she is having on an otherwise amicable and cohesive network of neighbours."

This was perhaps rather a fancy way of putting it, but Miss Eli had been a trained orator in her time and could speak to impress and command.

"Is that so?" Mrs. Mulholland gave Jess the benefit of a full minute of her most searching scrutiny. Then she murmured, as if dazed by her conclusions: "Mr. Harper, you are unique!"

 _Of course he is_ , Miss Eli snapped mentally, but refrained from saying so out loud.

"Do you have a young lady of your own, Mr. Harper?"

Jess hesitated. It was clear that he was thinking hard. This was not, in fact, because it was such a highly personal question, but because he was struggling to decide whether any of his female acquaintances would met Mrs. Mulholland's criteria for a lady.

Eventually he shook his head. "None you'd call permanent, ma'am."

"Remarkable!" Mrs. Mulholland continued to regard him with amazement.

Jess raised his eyebrows and Miss Eli, much provoked, was heard to mutter: "Of course he is!"

"I was sure," Mrs. Mulholland continued, as if unable to believe that she had been wrong, "that you must be engaged or at the very least have made a serious commitment to some other young woman."

Jess's eyebrows climbed even higher, if that was possible. He had the strangest sensation, as if a door had suddenly opened and he was able, just for a second, to glance through into something … something extraordinary and complex and infinitely precious.

"Why else would you, of all the young men in Laramie, be totally impervious to this particular young lady?"

"Because he's got more sense!" Miss Eli thought – and accidently said it aloud.

"Indeed. That much is obvious," Mrs. Mulholland agreed. "I apologise, Mr. Harper. I have underestimated you."

Jess smiled. That crooked, self-effacing half-smile which had wrenched so many female hearts. "I expect I gave you cause, ma'am. But I sure would appreciate your help right now!"

"You shall have it!" his interrogator declared, much to the hearty relief of her hearers. "But we need reinforcements for this enterprise!" She appeared to be listening, as if the US Cavalry were about to thunder to their rescue. Actually, the US Cavalry would probably have been no use at all, since they were likely to fall, to a man, under Hope's spell.

Instead, there was another knock at the door. Mrs. Mulholland smiled in a manner reminiscent of a cruising alligator which had just spotted an unwary antelope at the water's edge, although they were all probably unaware of this likeness, having never been anywhere near Florida.

"Agnes, dear – I hope you don't mind me calling without notice?"

"Martha Travers! Just the woman!"

For once, Jess entirely agreed with her. It seemed that Providence was smiling on him once again, in gifting him another of his staunch allies and favourite women, to counteract the menace of Mrs. M., who, even when on your side, was seriously intimidating. He offered up another thankful prayer, not even pausing to reflect that his spiritual responsiveness was being distinctly encouraged by the stresses of the current situation.

Martha, the wife of their nearest neighbour Dan Travers, paused only to check that Jess was not dripping blood or otherwise in need of some physical care and repair (a not unusual occurrence, in her experience of him), before she gave her undivided attention to Agnes Mulholland. She had of course heard all the gossip of the town, although her own boys thankfully lived too far out to be drawn into the magic sphere.

"Hope doesn't mean ill," Agnes assured them all. "She's just very naïve and has no idea of anything other than a life of fun and flirtation and pretty things and being popular."

"She'll never make a rancher's wife then," Martha observed tartly.

"And it is an unhelpful, possibly even dangerous, attitude to have to relationships in our neighbourhood, since there isn't a young man around here who doesn't have to make his living by the sweat of his brow," Miss Eli agreed.

"Hmmm!" All three ladies drew breath and their brows wrinkled in thought and their eyes narrowed with all the force of a life-time spent observing the human race.

Momentarily forgotten, Jess watched them with fascination. He was aware of having called up something both more primitive and more powerful than he had expected. Somewhere in the back of his mind he half remembered, uneasily, a story he had heard once – some young man who had consulted three old women with a view to improving the future and ended up with most unfortunate, not to say fatal, results. He put up another trusting prayer: these were good woman and he'd willingly place his life in the hands of two of them.

When he dragged his mind back to the business in hand, the three were discussing when they needed to meet again, after they'd had a good think – perhaps for afternoon tea upon the lawn (why was the word 'heath' running through his head?) and certainly before the sun set on their deliberations.

"I'm sure we have the core of it in her fairy-tale notions of what life here is like." Miss Eli was unwilling to depart without some kind of a working strategy.

"Yes – you had the right of it when you said marriage to one of our men was about sweat and dust and more often than not sheer hard labour," Martha agreed. Her own life certainly exemplified this.

Agnes looked somewhat askance at this forthright summary, but she had to admit it was true. "She has no idea what women really do and what is expected of them every day in a town like this."

"Still less on a ranch," Martha added.

The three ladies looked at each other, mutual comprehension beginning to gleam in their eyes.

"Maybe she needs to experience it …?"

"Yes … I think that could be arranged with a little planning!"

They all looked at Jess, who jumped like a guilty thing surprised out of sheer reaction to their intense purposefulness.

"Go away, Mr. Harper, and find my nephew. Come back in the afternoon. We shall have a plan in time for tea."

"Tea?" It was a beverage which did not cross Jess's path, much less his lips, although he knew that some people affected such colonial habits. But a combined look from Miss Eli and Martha made him swallow his misgivings, even if he had no intention of swallowing any tea.

"Yes, ma'am!"

He made a smart exit and a bee-line for the saloon, where he was pretty certain to find Jago, propping up the wall.


	7. Chapter 7

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 **7**

 **Afternoon Tea – or not**

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Jago was not propping up the wall. He was propping up the bar and did not, in all honestly, look in a fit condition for making polite conversation over the tea-cups (if there were any) or for being mobilized into a rescue plan by three determined women.

"Freddie! Coffee! Black coffee! Lots of it!" Jess bellowed into the back-room where the barman had been peacefully minding his own business and putting his feet up, custom being slack at this time of the day.

The coffee was more of a theatrical gesture than an actual necessity. Jess figured the quickest way to sober Jago up was to tell him what was in store for him! He was right. In next to no time, they were sitting quietly at a table with the coffee pot between them and Freddie on the alert to refill it promptly, since fortifying their nerves with alcohol was out of the question.

Jess had already put the fear of Mrs. Mulholland and her conspiring sisters into Jago. He did not really need to exaggerate, either. Jago had had enough experience already of his pseudo-aunt's imperious manner and was profoundly grateful he was staying at the hotel and not at her house. But there was no escaping the summons for this afternoon. His expression suggested that he'd rather like to blame Jess for this, although typically he did not vocalise this. Jess, on the other hand, was extremely vocal, pointing out to Jago that it was all his own fault for once more driving his sister out to visit the Sherman Relay Station on the previous afternoon.

"I had t'do something drastic!" Jess had been driven nearly to breaking point by his own self-imposed silence. "You have no idea what it's been like since Hope came callin' that first time, never mind yesterday!"

Jago gave him a dry look which implied Jess didn't have to live with her all the time.

Jess ignored the look. "The place used t'be comfortable. Now y' can't breathe on the furniture," he moaned, "and the floor's like skatin' on an iced pond." Contrary to all reasonable expectations, Jonesy had got it badly too.

Jago remained unmoved. Perhaps he was used to his sister being surrounded by domestic perfection or maybe their mother was just house-proud and he was used to living with the effects? Or perhaps the brief glimpse he had had of the inside of the relay station had convinced him that a little more polish, both literal and figurative, would not go amiss?

"There's nothing in the house to eat except cake!" This was not entirely an exaggeration and was in any case bound to be a minus for the now-returned Harper appetite.

Jago just glared at him since he was subjected to the horrors of dining with Mrs. Mulholland every day. Cake in all-male company would be infinitely preferable!

"Slim's got more oil on his hair than you'd use on a stage axle!" An unnecessary addition, as Slim's neat blonde hair always looked impeccable.

At this, Jago merely raised an eyebrow. After all, he didn't have to share a bedroom with an enraptured suitor who felt he had to do everything in his power to achieve perfection and that included perfuming the air with various aromatic unguents and pungent lotions.

"And to cap it all, she called Andy 'sweet'!" Anything more calculated to antagonize a teenage boy would be hard to imagine. As an approach from his brother's beloved, it was insensitive, to say the least. And the resulting fit of sulks was hard to put up with, too, as Jess had to balance supporting Andy's hurt feelings with a new role he had acquired as confidant to the hopeful lover. "And if I hear her name again …!" Fortunately words failed him at this point.

Jago glanced in trepidation at the clock over the bar. It was a toss-up whether it was worse having to put up with Jess's tirade of complaints or to face the three waiting for them. Jess had no such dilemma. He knew better than to go against the combined forces of Miss Eli and Martha, even if they were on his side. He also knew better than to be late.

Accordingly they gave each other a once-over in the hope of creating a suitably sober and reliable impression. This involved dusting off their hats, brushing their vests, and rubbing their boots on the back of the legs of their pants. Jess could not recall feeling so nervous about his appearance since he was seven and trying to convince his ma that he did not need to be sent back to wash behind his ears. Needless to say, Mrs. Harper had not been fooled and Jess didn't hold out much hope of three shrewd and experienced ladies being fooled either – but one had to try.

When the two nervous young men were ushered into Mrs. Mulholland's drawing room, the shine on their boots was as nothing compared to the gleam in three pairs of female eyes. Admittedly this gleam, on the part of two of them, was at least partially inspired by two very good looking young men, with a distinct partiality for the Texan one … but be that as it may, they were immediately invited to sit down and learn their part in the plan to dissuade Hope from her triumphal progress through the susceptible hearts of male population of Laramie.

"The objective of this process," Mrs. Mulholland began, rather as if she were addressing a fund-raising committee, "is to enlighten my young visitor as to the realities of actual life as it is experienced in Laramie."

"Teach her what really goes on here," Miss Eli translated, noting with amusement the slightly baffled expression on both the young men's faces.

"Give her some practical experience," Martha contributed, "enough to let her know that life can be hard and isn't just a round of social events."

"How brave are you?" Mrs. Mulholland fixed her gimlet-like gaze on Jess.

"How brave do I have to be?" Jess asked cautiously, hiding a grin since he was conscious of his fan-club bristling at the mere suggestion that he might lack courage.

"As brave as you are normally," Martha told him with a smile, "but if you could avoid getting too battered in the process, it would be a change."

"Jago can protect me," Jess grinned back.

"No, he can't!" Miss Eli put in. "He has his part to play, but he has to look as if he's got nothing to do with it. In fact, both of you have got to be really sneaky about the whole enterprise."

Jess glanced at his companion and said: "I think we can do sneaky, if you tell us what's needed?"

"You need to administer a shock, without getting anyone killed!" Miss Eli told them. This caused them both to sit up and pay attention because the thought of anyone getting hurt had not entered their heads. Clearly the ladies were determined to deal really seriously with this problem.

"So," Mrs. M continued majestically, "we have planned a picnic."

"A _picnic_!" The baffled look on two faces was replaced by incredulity. After which, Jess said solemnly: "I think I can be brave enough for a picnic."

"Ah, but this is no ordinary picnic," Martha was positively grinning. "This is a picnic with added hazards."

"For which a certain degree of bravery is requisite," Mrs. Mulholland added.

Jess raised an eyebrow.

"We want you to get injured."

"You do? Martha, you just said I wasn't to!" he protested plaintively.

"You just have to slice your arm up a bit," Martha told him.

"I do?"

"Just enough blood to look gory without doing serious damage."

"Thanks!"

"Hope needs an opportunity to find out that a woman has to know how to bandage up her man!" stated the arch-bandager of all time.

"Why me? Slim'd love being bandaged by her!"

"Because we're trying to put her off, that's why."

"Thanks!" Seeing that he was not going to get out of it, Jess nodded reluctantly. "But how are you goin' to get this picnic to happen?"

"I shall prepare the ground," Mrs. M assured them. "A young girl's mind is very susceptible to suggestion and Hope delights in surprise parties. She must think it is all her own idea. And, of course, on no account must Mr. Sherman be allowed to get so much as a hint of what is going on."

She fixed Jess with almost her old glare before she remembered he was now definitely on her side. Jess spread his hands in a disarming gesture and promised: "Not a word out of me!"

"We'll need to co-opt Andy too," Miss Eli put in.

"Yes, for the ants," Martha agreed. "Will he be willing to go along with our plan?"

"If it's got anything to do with animals," Jess grinned, "and I guess ants count. Besides, he'll want to get his own back for bein' called 'sweet'." This caused a disapproving 'tut-tut' from Martha, who had sons of the same age.

"And I expect he'll like keeping a secret," Miss Eli observed from long experience of schoolboys.

"I'll make sure he keeps quiet about it," Jess promised.

"Good!" Mrs. Mulholland resumed command. "Now, Jago, to set all this in motion, you are going to take Hope on another drive out the relay station …"


	8. Chapter 8

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 **8**

 **Picnic**

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Slim could not believe his luck! The familiar buggy rolled into the yard a little before noon – the second visit in three days! And it was a glorious day. It would have been a glorious day even if it had been pouring with rain, but fortunately it wasn't.

"Oh, Mr. Sherman! I do hope you like surprises?" Hope jumped out almost before the buggy had come to a halt. She was a picture of perfection in cream sprigged muslin, with dainty little pumps, lacy gloves and a small but smart flowered hat crowning her shining hair.

It was as well that Jago's habitual expression never revealed anything, even his desire to chuckle. Andy was already safely out of the way, embarking on his mission. Jess averted his gaze hastily and became very interested in the young horses in the corral.

"I like anything you've planned, Miss Hope."

"Then will you take me for a drive, please? You promised you'd show me how beautiful your ranch is."

Slim hesitated. If he went off with Hope, his share of the work for the day would fall on Jess. Into the pause, Jago made the longest speech they had heard from him yet: "Ain't going anywhere without a chaperone!"

"Oh, Jago!" Hope actually stamped, but so prettily that Slim was enchanted rather than warned by this evidence of temper. "Don't spoil my surprise! Aunt Agnes knows all about it _and_ she knows Mr. Sherman."

"Reckon Slim's a trustworthy as a man can be!" Jonesy was staunch in his support.

Jago had seemingly exhausted his ability to utter, since he shrugged and climbed down from the buggy. Slim turned hopefully to Jess, but waited to see how he would react.

Jess frowned for a minute, as if calculating. Then he said quietly, "Was just goin' to work on a few of the youngsters we broke to saddle last week. Maybe Jago can give me a hand, if he's not playin' driver?"

So the master-plan was launched. Slim hastened to fetch his hat, climbed into the buggy and took up the reins. As it moved off out of the yard, they heard Hope's tinkling laugh as she explained: "I've brought a picnic. Didn't you mention the lake was very pretty?"

Jess and Jago did not catch each other's eye in front of Jonesy. Both were thinking: _so far, so good!_

With Jonesy still staring after the buggy, a benign look of satisfaction on his face, they had, perforce, to take two of the young horses, rather than any of the more reliable ones. After assuring to Jonesy that all was in order for the stage team to change their own horses for once, Jess announced their intention to give the new horses a little try-out with some young steers in a nearby pasture. This was not exactly a fabrication. The pasture just happened to be immediately above a certain lake …

Meanwhile, Slim was showing Hope the joys of the ranch. This provided a ride which was rather more bumpy and uncomfortable than she had bargained for, the buggy being sprung for use mainly on some kind of road rather than across country. But since the rough passage entailed a good deal of sliding together and the occasional supporting arm against the jolts, neither of them thought of complaining. Well, not Slim, anyway – he was used to it. Hope was conscious that her dress was getting creased and that she would be sore sitting down for some days to come. The discomfort was unexpected and unwelcome, so it was a good job Slim's company made up for it. To a certain extent.

He was being the perfect gentleman, attentive, considerate – and obedient to her every whim. This included the location of their picnic. Slim had naturally enough drawn up at the place on the lakeside which the Sherman family had always used. There was a wide lawn, some fallen trunks and dry bounders to sit on, a ready-made fire pit and just enough trees to give shade without impeding the view of the surrounding countryside.

It was not, however, to Hope's liking, since it did not accord with what she thought was her plan.

"Come on, let's walk along the shore a little!" She actually took Slim's hand and led him prettily along the margin of the lake, in the direction of her objective. That nice friend of Aunt Agnes, Mrs. Travers, had mentioned casually that there was a lovely secluded glade in the trees a little way along the shore, quite private …

The way along the shore was not as easy as it looked. Nor were Hope's dainty pumps the ideal shoes in which to be walking. She had a nasty feeling she was getting a blister. But the rough parts also gave Slim the opportunity to lift her over them, so it was not without its compensations.

When they reached the spot, she sank gracefully onto the grass and smiled up at him. She knew that she looked an absolute picture of feminine loveliness, with her billowing cream skirts spread wide around her and the flowers in her hat adding a touch of colour. "This is perfect! Perhaps you can bring the buggy up, with the picnic?" There was a rough trail skirting the trees about thirty feet from the lakeside, so she knew it was possible.

Slim dutifully did as he was asked. He had some misgivings, having a lot more experience of eating outside than Hope had, but he didn't want to disappoint her. After he had driven round, he watered the horse at the lakeside and tethered it in the shade of the trees, since, being corn-fed, it didn't really need to graze.

Hope watched these ministrations with ill-concealed impatience. She really could not see why Slim insisted on making more fuss over the animal than he did over her. Finally, however, he spread out the rug on the grass for her to take her seat and lifted down the picnic basket.

Sitting in the middle of the grassy lawn was picturesque, but since there was no shade, also rather hot. Hope had neglected to bring a parasol and in any case would have considered one to be an impediment to developing interesting relations with the man of her choice. She pulled out her fan and wished she had chosen a more shady hat. The last thing she wanted as a result of this interlude was to develop a tan and freckles!

Slim, who was wearing his usual practical working clothes and a tried and trusted hat, looked a good deal cooler than she did. She couldn't help noticing, though, that his boots were scuffed and dusty, his vest well-worn and there were even a couple of darns in his shirt. Still, he was very handsome and he was entirely alone with her.

Entirely alone, except for the ants. It did not take long for the ants (several nests carefully transported and reestablished by Andy) to locate the picnic. This was because the picnic basket was no sooner deposited on the rug than it began to ooze an ominous red liquid.

"Oh! The jam! The jar must have broken!" Hope exclaimed and on examining the contents, found that this was the case.

Slim said nothing. Jam was not a good choice for a picnic, but he was not going to criticize and spoil her enjoyment. In fact, all the food was surprising for its unsuitability for outdoor eating. Everything seemed to be sweet and sugary and squishy, resulting in a sticky mess on fingers and plates and anywhere else it could inconveniently spread itself. The ants had a field day! So did the numerous flies, bees and wasps which it attracted.

Not so the humans. After they had moved the rug a couple of times, they abandoned the picnic hamper to the invading Formicidae and contented themselves with sipping luke-warm lemonade. Somehow it didn't stay cool the way it did in the pitcher at home.

Ants were not the only hazard, as Slim knew well. Part of the usefulness of the fire-pit was to generate some aromatic smoke to keep the gnats at bay. Since he didn't smoke cigarettes or cigars himself, he was not able to offer an alternative preventative and Hope found herself wanting to scratch her itching hair in a most unladylike fashion.

Something else did fill the air, though, totally eclipsing the gnats and settling on them both in a fine film. It was dust. It was dusty because a small herd of young steers were ambling and skirmishing and head-butting their way along the trail at the edge of the clearing. They appeared to be following their natural inclinations without any encouragement, although this was not, in fact, the case. Jess was just a good way behind them and well out of sight. Several of them broke away from the herd and followed further natural inclinations down to the water's edge to drink. They were not particularly big steers, but they were noisy, smelly and unpredictable. Hope clung to Slim's arm.

"Oh, horrid! Make them go away! At once!"

Slim detached himself from her with some difficulty, took off his hat and shooed them back onto the trail. The steers dodged and curvetted and bellowed, but eventually rejoined the herd. "They're only being playful," he explained. "Just full of high spirits – like you."

It was an unfortunate compliment. Hope pouted and snapped back: "I am nothing like a smelly old cow, Mr. Sherman!"

"They're not old," he corrected gently, "and they're not cows. You have to learn the difference, living out here."

"Indeed?" Hope sniffed. "I can't think why!"

A faint frown creased Slim's brow. "Because raising cattle is how most of us make our living."

"How horrid!" Hope said again, but then her dimples re-appeared and she breathed: "Thank you for protecting me. You are a hero!"

The frown deepened. Slim was nothing if not realistic and did not relish exaggerated compliments, especially ones which actually made him look a fool. Hope, however, did not notice.

"The beastly things have churned up the grass and made the water muddy!" she complained, contriving her prettiest tones as she did so. "I'm afraid our picnic will be spoiled and …"

It was at this point that a simple plan to sabotage the idyll and introduce a few hard facts about real life into the romantic liaison, went badly wrong. The result was the picnic from hell!

While Slim and Hope had been distracted by the steers which Jess had managed to drive surreptitiously in their direction, Jago had wormed his way through the trees and unhitched the horse from its tether. The idea was to let it loose, necessitating a hot, dusty walk back to the relay station, during which they would have come across and had to attend to an apparently injured Jess. The hot and hungry couple, and their patient of course, would be rescued – eventually – in a plain old unsprung wagon, the like of which formed the usual transport around Laramie. Hope would either rise to the occasion with flying colours or be put off for ever. Slim would see her reaction to and opinion of his life-style and its demands. That was the plan.

It was a couple of horses who really upset it. The buggy horse was no more used to steers than Hope. Seeing the frolicking herd, it panicked, took flight and crashed through the undergrowth in an attempt to escape. Unfortunately, it disturbed a hornets' nest, with predictable results. The insects billowed out in a savage swarm, ready to defend their home to the last.

Slim took one look and grabbed Hope. "Run!" He dragged her by the arm and plunged them both into the lake, which was fortunately several feet deep at this point. "Get under!" His hand came down smartly on the top of her hat and her head was submerged, just as the angry buzzing cloud swirled overhead.

When they emerged, after a couple of minutes, the immediate danger from the hornets was over. The danger from Hope's temper was equally fierce and certainly not over! She was furious. Her favourite hat had floated away, her hair was full of water-weed, her eyes smarted from the peaty water and her dress was soaked and clung to her in a most embarrassing fashion. Not a dimple was in sight.

Slim waded ashore and turned to offer her his hand.

It was frigidly declined.

Fortunately the sun was very hot and, as she tried to wring out the soaking folds of muslin as best she could, her dress began to steam.

The hornets, meanwhile, deprived of their human targets, set about finding something else on which to vent their wrath. The next moving objects to catch their attention were the steers. This would not have mattered very much if the steers, like the horse, had not panicked. Instead of running away, they milled and circled and eventually, maddened by buzzing and stinging, decided to stampede back to the pasture from whence they had come.

Unfortunately, Jess was right in their path.

And that would not have mattered very much either, if he had been riding Traveller. But the subterfuge of the plan meant that he was on a green young horse who had never faced a stampede of maddened cattle in its short life. It baulked mightily, dug in both forelegs and, to make matters worse, shied sideways into a thicket. Even that would not have mattered, had it not become entangled in some stout creepers which pulled it abruptly to its knees. As his mount disappeared from under him, Jess was catapulted into the path of the charging herd.

There was a split second of sheer horror all round. Hope was just petrified by the – to her eyes – huge, rampant beasts. Slim had barely registered his friend's presence before he was suddenly lost from sight under the pounding hooves. Jess felt time slow down as he curved through the air, asking himself why on earth he had got involved in all this in the first place, at the same time as automatically rolling into a tight ball with the object of minimizing the blows he was about to receive. He sent up a brief prayer like a bullet enquiring of the Almighty why, after so much divine intervention on his behalf, he was being abandoned now?

And then a very hard head hit him in the ribs and, as his protective curl was forced open, he felt the searing pain of a horn raking across his collar-bone and gouging into his shoulder. Nothing broke, though, and Jess decided the Almighty might, after all, still be interested in preserving him. And as he was offering up yet another prayer of thankfulness for small mercies, a much larger and more active mercy appeared in the shape of Slim.

Slim it was who seized the offending steer by one horn and twisted its tail with the other hand. Then he simply ran it back onto the track, where it lost interest in doing any more damage to the recumbent human and high-tailed it after its fellows. They were being cheered on their way by the combined efforts of Jago and Andy, who had sensibly decided that the cattle had participated quite enough for one day and were driving them back to their proper milieu.

Jess sat up cautiously, spitting out a mouthful of dust and dung as he did so. He was wheezing and gasping for breath as a result of the impact of head-butt on his ribs. Slim advanced in no uncertain manner, vengeance warring with worry in his eyes. He reached Jess, bent down and simply picked him up, an action which he knew full well would definitely infuriate his shorter partner.

Sure enough: "Ain't nothing wrong with m'legs!" Jess growled angrily.

"No, just with your crazy head!" Slim retorted.

"My head's fine too," Jess asserted with all the dignity he could manage, which wasn't much when he was being carried like a baby! "An' that's more'n can be said for yours!"

"Shut up!" Slim told him firmly as he dumped him on his feet once more by the waterside. "And you are not fine! For a start, you're bleeding like a young river."

"Hell!" Jess looked down at his shoulder. His legs felt wobbly from all the exertion of the last few minutes, but his reaction had nothing to do with pain. "Hell!" he said again. "That's my last decent shirt!"

"Just shut up and sit down, will you?" Slim had noticed the wobble of course.

He turned to Hope, who was staring, open-mouthed. She had never seen so much blood in her life. In fact, she had never seen more than a pin-prick or a paper-cut in her life. Jess's line in spectacular injuries was certainly an education.

"Rip me a length off your petticoat," Slim ordered the stunned girl.

"What?"

"I need a bandage. Your petticoat's fine linen and," he chuckled, "it's just had a good wash, so tear off a strip."

"I will not!" Hope was frankly horrified. "How dare you ask such a thing of a lady!"

Slim's frown became formidable as it always did when his principles were challenged. "You're looking at a man who's losing too much blood!" he snapped. "D'you want him to bleed to death?"

"Don't be s-s-silly," Hope stammered. She had never come anywhere near a life-threatening situation before.

"Don't waste y'time arguin'," Jess begged. His hand was beginning to ache from being clamped hard down on the wound and he just wanted to get something on it, he didn't much care what. "Rip up my shirt. It's ruined anyway."

"Ok." Slim helped him out of it and tore it into strips to bandage the wound. The horn had fortunately not driven in, but just ripped a long gouge across Jess's chest and shoulder. "You need this stitching," Slim said firmly, "and don't start complaining you can't stand the medical profession!"

"Isn't that what he always does?" A new voice, a feminine voice, joined in the debate.

They looked round and saw a dilapidated wagon and, driving it, a familiar and trusted friend. Sally Travers' eyes were bright with concern and affection as she took in the situation and the need for some surgical skills. "Trouble again, I see. Do you boys need some help?"


	9. Chapter 9

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 **9**

 **Scattered Crumbs**

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Sally jumped down from the wagon and hitched the reins efficiently so that the team would not move off. Equally efficiently, she inspected Slim's improvised bandage and gave him an approving nod. "That'll help a lot, but we'll need to keep up the pressure on the wound too. Can you drive please, Slim, and we'll look after Jess in the back?"

 _Lucky Jess!_ Not for the first time, Slim observed that, whenever Jess got hurt, there always seemed to be a female comforter - usually pretty! – around to minister to him. All the same, he did not make light of the injury. It was important they got Jess to the doctor, even though both Jonesy and Sally would be able to do temporary treatment for him. With this in mind, he advanced once more on his seated partner.

"Get off me!" Jess snarled. "I can climb!" He scrambled defiantly to his feet, strode over to the wagon and hauled himself up into the back.

Slim and Sally grinned at each other, both being well acquainted with Jess's inability to accept help. Slim laughed and told the offended Texan: "I wasn't thinking of lifting _you_ up!" He offered Sally his hand and led her over to the wagon, where he placed both hands on her waist and lifted her easily to join Jess.

Turning to Hope, Slim jerked his head in the direction of the other two and said: "Come on, up you go too. Sally'll need another pair of hands when she has to take a rest."

Hope had been watching the three of them with a kind of baffled rage. They so obviously knew each other well and were totally at ease together. Sally could not hold a candle to the younger girl in terms of dress and deportment, but she had a warm, shrewd and generous practicality which shone with its own kind of beauty. And both men equally obviously admired her.

Now Slim was giving Hope orders as if she were a younger sister of not much account, just like Jago did. Hope scowled. She almost stamped her foot. She had no intention of being thrown around in the back of a rough wagon with a now shirtless, blood-stained man against whom her great aunt had taken a severe dislike. "I'm not going in that filthy wagon to get covered with blood," she told him angrily.

"Then you'll walk," Slim informed her quietly but inexorably. However much he might want to strangle Jess himself at times, he was not going to have his friend's health risked by some teenage tantrum.

"That's cruel!" Hope burst into tears.

Sally was soft-hearted as well as generous. "Oh, let her ride up front with you, Slim," she suggested, adding with a distinct twinkle in her eye: "I can manage Jess perfectly well on my own."

That went almost without saying, but Slim didn't have to like it. And he liked still less the smirk on Jess's rather dirt-smeared features as he contributed: "Yeah, I don't mind having Sally all to myself!"

Slim beckoned to the girl who was now sobbing artistically into a damp handkerchief. "Get up on the front, Hope."

"But the buggy. Where is it? I want to go in the buggy!"

"It's over there." Slim pointed. "But I don't think you'll get far without the horse." A thought about this mysterious disappearance struck him and he gave Jess another stern glance. Since Jess was fully occupied getting comfortable with Sally's supporting arm around him, this had absolutely no effect whatsoever. Slim put it down to account – to be dealt with later! He turned his attention back to Hope.

With a sudden flash of common sense, that young lady had realized there was nothing for it but to obey if she did not want to walk several miles in her sodden and unsuitable pumps. After seeing her safely into the seat, Slim unhitched the reins and jumped up beside her.

The wagon started with a jolt and a rattle, which set the tune for their journey. If Hope had been anything less than totally self-centred, she might have spared a thought for what the shaking must be doing to Jess's injured shoulder. But she was too busy sulking and trying to keep an aloof dignity, which was difficult with the swaying and lurching tossing her around in the seat. Slim looked over his shoulder from time to time, making sure Sally was alright and Jess's bandages were holding up. The proximity of Sally's burnished hair to the rough, dark locks of her patient did not please him. On the other hand, he could see that blood was still soaking through the bandage despite the pressure Sally was maintaining. He urged the horses as fast as the track and the safety of his passengers would allow. It did not make him any more popular with Miss Hope Robinson, whose pleasant plans had been so disrupted.

 **#####**

Jonesy was doomed to have his pleasant post-lunch snoozes disturbed as well and this time the interruption was just as unexpected as the first. He was aroused by the sound of Andy's palomino thundering into the yard. _Where had the young rascal been all day?_ Jonesy was preparing some stern words on taking a holiday from the chores when the front door burst open and Andy was appealing for his help.

"Get bandages and your salve, Jonesy! I'll put the hot water on!" He disappeared into the kitchen.

"Why? What's up? Who's hurt?" Jonesy demanded as he headed for his medicine chest.

"Guess!" Andy was not above relieving the tension with a little humour.

"Huh!" Jonesy didn't need to guess. "What's he done this time?"

"Lain down in front of a stampede," Andy grinned.

Jonesy's heart lurched. Maddening though Jess could certainly be and much as Jonesy supported Slim's right to choose whatever woman he wanted, he had patched up and nursed the Texan too many times to want to see him die now. All he said, though, was: "Huh! Thought he'd got more sense!"

Andy considered this for a moment. "Slim always says that Jess operates on fifty per cent instinct, forty percent reflex and just ten percent common sense."

"He does? Well, y'brother knows that durn'd Texan well enough by now. Wise man, your brother."

And with this accolade, the wise brother drove his mixed cargo into the yard.

Jonesy was out of the door like a shot, despite his bad back, and Andy was close on his heels. A sweeping glance revealed a bedraggled, mortified and furious Hope, sitting with as cold a shoulder as she could managed turned to a stony-faced Slim. But Jonesy did not spare her as much as a glance, still less a polite invitation to the hospitality of the house. He rushed straight to the tailgate of the wagon and was relieved to see Sally Travers in charge of the world's most recalcitrant patient. He didn't even spare a thought to worry about the close embrace in which Sally was holding Slim's rival. He just wanted to see the damage.

"Git y'self over here right now, y' stupid cowhand!" he ordered. "Ain't you old enough yet t' know y' don't mix it with steers on foot?"

Jess gave him a sheepish grin and scooted over to the end of the trailer. Jonesy made short work of removing the improvised bandage which was now pretty well soaked in blood. Andy had placed a bowl of warm water on the tailgate. Jonesy took up the sponge and cleaned the wound as thoroughly as he could. Then he dried it, pressed on a thick pad of gauze and bound up the shoulder with clean bandages.

"Ain't gonna put nothin' on it," he said to Sally when he'd finished. "Needs deep cleanin' and stitchin'."

She nodded in agreement. "Best left to the doctor."

"You keep the pressure on it, though, girl – else he's gonna be as pale as a new-born lamb by the time he gets back to his own bed."

"Ain't aimin' for any bed," Jess told them cheekily. "I had in mind a long, peaceful visit to the saloon."

"I should know better than to expect any lamb-like behaviour from you!" Sally scolded him. "Now get back in here and let's get going."

"Thanks, Jonesy!" Jess might be resistant to all things medical, but he knew that Jonesy had saved his life more than once. Now he gave the old cook an appreciative thump on the arm and added: "And next time, don't go rushin' out so fast you hurt that back of yours!" His quick eyes had spotted the pain in Jonesy's movements, deft though they were.

"I suppose it's too much to hope that there ain't gonna be a next time?" Jonesy gave him a slap on the unhurt shoulder. "Now git!"

All this while, Hope and Slim had remained silent in the front seat. Hope knew she could not get back to Laramie and to a bath and clean clothes and civilization unless she continued to ride along. There was no way she was going on a stage in this state! Slim was content to let Jonesy take Jess to task and also trusted his skill and knowledge to give him the best help he could at the same time. He was just worried that another twelve miles in the discomfort of the wagon was not going to do Jess much good.

Jess evidently had the same thought. "This is stupid," he protested, resisting Sally's attempts to herd him back into the wagon. "Get Trav. I can ride."

"I'm fine!" three voices chorused as one. They'd all heard Jess in this vein before.

"You're not fine and you're not riding," Slim added flatly. His voice was quiet, without emphasis, but he had no intention of letting Jess disobey him. Fortunately there was a further rattle of wheels and Jago drove in to the yard in the buggy, with the two young horses trailing unwillingly behind. He'd stayed to catch all three of them, while Andy made swift tracks to the ranch to alert Jonesy.

As he pulled to a halt, his sister jumped from the wagon and rushed into his arms. "Oh, Jago! Thank goodness you're here. Take me home! I can't bear this any more …"

Jago looked at the little group in the wagon. He looked down at his sister, who was rather more the worse for wear than any of them intended. He shook his head.

"What? But you must!" Hope's voice was shrill with frustration.

Jago put her gently aside. He led the buggy up close to the wagon and said: "Get in!"

Jess was having none of it. "I'm fi … quite capable of riding!" he insisted.

Jago looked at him closely. He was obviously summoning up the full range of his persuasive vocabulary. "Nonsense! In!" He seemed as if he was going to copy Slim and pick Jess up bodily if he continued to resist.

This must have been evident to Jess – or perhaps he was just stunned by Jago's unexpected assertiveness. He slid reluctantly over the tailgate and clambered into the buggy.

"You too, miss." Jago offered Sally his hand as she changed vehicles. He jerked his head towards Jess. "Needs holding down!"

Sally grinned and complied by applying the pressure on Jess's bandages again. Jago climbed up beside them, but was interrupted by a positive screech from his sister.

"Jago, you can't do this! What about me?"

As usual, Jago showed about as much emotional reaction to her shenanigans as a stone carving. He pointed to the wagon. "Ride with Sherman. It's what you wanted, isn't it?"

He shook the reins and the buggy rattled out of the yard, followed in short order by the wagon. Not a word was spoken for some miles. They were all struck dumb by Jago Robinson's totally unexpected loquacity!

 **#####**

Slim pulled the wagon to a halt outside the Mulholland's house. _Why was he not surprised to find Martha Travers keeping company with the First Lady?_ His mental nostrils twitched at a distinct aroma of conspiracy. He looked at the bedraggled and unhappy girl beside him and felt an upsurge of both pity and anger. He never could abide unfairness and what had happened to Hope was certainly unfair. He just hoped it was unplanned, but he had his doubts. _But Hope had shown no consideration for anyone except herself. When he thought of her disregard of Jess's injury …!_

It was at this point that Slim realized Jess had been right all along and that, when he was thinking clearly, he valued his partner's instinctive reactions to people. In any case, life on the relay station ranch involved living with Jess and Slim was suddenly conscious that any relationship which divided their friendship was probably not worth pursuing permanently. This revelation didn't stop him feeling sorry for Hope, but it came with an immense and unexpected sense of relief.

The wagon had barely drawn to a halt when the door of the Mulholland's house opened and the reception committee emerged. Actually it was not the full reception committee, because Miss Eli had a business to run and could not be sitting around waiting to see if the sisterhood's schemes had come to fruition. But Mrs. Mulholland and Mrs. Travers could be relied upon to do the honours.

"Oh, Aunt Agnes!" Hope flung herself off the wagon seat and into what she expected would be sympathetic arms.

"Hope, my dear, I see you have been at work."

Hope gave an outraged sob: "I've had the most terrible time, such horrid experiences, I can't tell you."

"No, my dear," Mrs. Mulholland sounded anything but sympathetic, "there _is_ nothing you can tell me or any other woman in Laramie about the need to stand strong alongside our men in their daily work."

"Work?" Hope sounded scandalized. "I was going on a picnic."

Mrs. Mulholland patted Hope gently on the arm, but her voice was uncompromising: "I'm sure Mr. Sherman –" here she accorded him a polite bow, "was kind enough to take time off from the work of his business, but you should not imagine that picnics are the normal routine of a working ranch."

"Our young men have many demands on their time and strength," Mrs. Travers continued firmly. "The women in their lives must be prepared to endure with them hardship and uncertainty and loneliness."

"But that's horrible!" Hope protested. "It's all horrible – insects and smelly cows and dust and -"

"That's enough, Hope!" Mrs. Mulholland detached herself firmly from her ward's embrace. "You insult the lives of the men who are opening up this territory!"

"And giving all they have to make homes and businesses secure – devoting all their effort to supporting their families," Martha Travers continued.

"To make it a place fit for women to be able to enjoy on high days and holidays the things you seem to expect all the time!" Mrs. Mulholland concluded. "Now come inside and clean up. You're keeping Mr. Sherman from important tasks."

"Important!" Hope stamped both feet at last, relieving all her pent-up feelings. "I don't care about his smelly cows and your stupid town! I want to go home!"

"Very well, my dear," Agnes Mulholland gave no indications whatsoever of her satisfaction, "Come inside and I'll help you pack."

As Mrs Mulholland and Hope made their way back into the house, Slim felt a wrench of separation which summed up his emotions. But he had heard his life, his home and his community dismissed as 'stupid' and he knew that the any pain at such parting was well worth bearing.

"I see you've got our wagon, Slim." Martha Travers was smiling at him with all the understanding and generosity which characterized both her and her daughter. "Can you take me back into town to find Sally?"

Find Sally they did, but it was not in ideal circumstances.

Jago had, of course, driven Jess straight to the doctor's house. He and Sally sat on the porch in tense silence until the front door opened and Jess emerged at last, stitched up and in a borrowed shirt, but still cockily defiant. The doctor surveyed the three of them with a jaundiced eye and then pronounced: "Just keep him out of trouble, will you? At least for the next couple of hours!"

Jess's escort exchanged glances and Sally affirmed: "We'll do our best, doc."

"Well, get Slim on your side! You're going to need all the muscle-power you can muster if you're going to make this idiot rest!" And with that, the doctor slammed his door on them.

Jago said nothing, just grabbed Jess in a cautious but heartfelt hug. Jess was not sure whether this was jubilation at the success of their plan or because his friend was pleased to see him in one piece again.

Sally said nothing either and she was not going to let Jago have a monopoly of hugging. She looked up at Jess, her relief and affection positively radiating from her eyes, and flung both arms round him. Jess had to bend his head to look down at her … he kept on leaning down …

The wagon rounded the bend which took them to the doctor's house. It was set on a rise high above the road and the porch was partly enclosed, but it was still a pretty public place for a prolonged and thorough kiss. Not that Sally seemed concerned. In fact, she seemed to be enjoying the experience considerably. Even the sound of the wagon approaching and stopping did not provoke any reaction. The reaction was all Slim's. No doubt as Jess intended.


	10. Chapter 10

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 **Epilogue**

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When Sally, Jess and Jago descended the steps from the house, there was another unexpected surprise, for it seemed that Jess's business in town was not limited to visiting the doctor.

Jess shook Jago heartily by the hand and told him: "You're a good man to have around. Hope y' don't get too much hell on the way home!" Jago's expressionless face split into a delighted grin and he said: "Guess I can always find a few ants or some hornets!"

After this, Jess tipped his hat to the ladies and said: "Martha, Sally, will y'excuse me for five minutes?" To Slim, who was still the driver, he added: "Pick me up by the Livery, will y'?"

Before Slim could make any objection about the need for rest and recovery, Jess strode away down the street and disappeared round the bend.

"If he's gone to the saloon -!" The threat was clear in Slim's voice, but Jago shook his head and pointed out: "Wrong direction."

Jess's friends looked at each other, thoroughly puzzled about what he could possibly be up to now. They would have been even more baffled if they could have seen him make his way purposefully into the little wooden church which stood on the next corner.

The interior of the church was dim and warm. It felt odd without the Reverend Fitzwilliam roaring from the pulpit. A deep silence enfolded the whole place. The empty benches seemed … almost to be supporting the weight of the citizens of Laramie, not their physical weight but their fears and their hopes, their longings and their triumphs, their doubts and their certainties. There was a smell in the air, very faintly sweet and sharp – not incense, with which Jess was familiar from long ago – it was something else, something intangible yet immediate. A single ray of sunshine, twinkling with dust motes, fell from the window to pool on the floor.

Jess moved slowly and quietly until he was close to this brightness. Quite naturally, he dropped to his knees and remained motionless for some minutes. Then, as if he been waiting to be asked, he murmured: "Thank you … and sorry it turned out the way it did … didn't mean things to get so rough, such hard stuff to happen … guess you know that anyway … so … just … thank you …" Presently he rose and settled his hat back on his head and walked quietly out of the church and along to the Livery Stables.

 **#####**

Somehow, having picked Jess up at the Livery, Slim found himself riding in the back of the wagon, while Martha drove and the invalid (if he could be called such) was sandwiched safely between her and Sally. After all, you couldn't ask either of the women to ride in the back unless it was really necessary and of course Jess would not benefit from another twelve miles of jolting. But Slim didn't have to like it!

They were all very quiet on the journey back. The three in the front could hardly discuss the success of their strategy and Slim was in no mood to dwell on the picnic and its outcomes either. All the same, he wondered very much about that loose buggy horse and the very convenient arrival of Sally and the wagon. A stab – could it be of jealousy? – struck him as he wondered if she had come just for an assignation with Jess? But given that his presence at the lakeside was just as much chance as the picnic and he would normally have been hard at work at the relay station, Slim had to admit it seemed unlikely. And yet … the arrival of a herd of steers and four extra people at the exact location ... and such disastrous results? It made him wonder.

By the time they arrived back at the relay station, Slim had come to some very definite conclusions about the events and about his own feelings. He got down from the tailgate and went round the front. Jess hopped off the front seat with the jaunty air of someone who had never heard of being gored by a steer and sewn up professionally. At least he didn't attempt any more kissing, but his respect for Martha might have caused such restraint.

They said their thanks for the help and the lift once again. The women refused any refreshment, being not far now from their own home. The partners stood side by side and watched the wagon roll onwards down the southbound road until it was out of sight.

"Now!" There was retribution in Slim's voice as he picked Jess up by the borrowed shirt and held him at arm's length. With his greater height, this easily rendered Jess's struggling impotent. Slim considered carefully where and how hard to place his punches, with due respect for Jess's damaged shoulder.

The first hit him square in the eye and was relatively light. "That's for the damn smug, self-righteous expression that's been on your face all week!"

The second landed on his stomach and was hard enough to cause him to double up. "That's for falling under a stampede and getting yourself hurt bad enough to scare the living daylights out of me!"

The third was full force and caught him on the chin, sending him flying backwards. "And that's for kissing Sally!"

Jess sat in the dust and grinned infuriatingly. "Didn't know you'd got exclusive rights!" He scrambled to his feet and followed Slim as he stalked towards the house. Jess seemed to be quoting reminiscently as he continued: "Although why you can't recognise a nice, decent, God-fearin' woman with all the skills to run a home and a ranch _and_ pretty into the bargain and –"

Slim rounded on him with his most ferocious scowl yet. "Keep your nose out of it! If I hear one more word out of you -!"

Jess laughed outright, pleased he had not only got a rise out of Slim, but also confirmed his own view of certain feelings his friend was not admitting to. Not yet, at any rate.

Jonesy popped his head out of the kitchen door to see what all the hullabaloo was about. He took one look and yelled: "Andy! Emergency rations!" Then he advanced on the partners in the manner of one about to wield a stock-whip. Instead he pointed to the chairs on the porch: "Sit! The pair of y'!"

Jess followed Slim willingly and flopped into the second rocking chair. He turned his head and looked at Slim, his grin completely affectionate now the reason for his exasperation had finally disappeared in more ways than one. Slim smiled back; he said nothing, just shook his head and closed his eyes thankfully as he relished the tranquility now restored to his home – probably … at least, if Jess kept quiet for a bit …

As Jess rocked gently back and forth, he reflected that, after all the practice he'd had recently, he could keep his mouth shut for a while longer, especially when Andy thrust a glass of whiskey into each of their hands. And he sent up one last fervent and utterly genuine prayer of thankfulness.

 _Golden sunset, golden whiskey and the last of the sun gleaming gold on the heads of two at least of the three good friends around him. Yeah! Silence certainly is golden._

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* * *

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Notes:

For those of you interested in chronology (yeah, my Laramie world is … quite organized?), this one comes after _Brightly Shone the Moon_ and before, for instance, _My Brother's Keeper_ and _Bearing Gifts,_ in which Sally also features.

Acknowledgement: _For all chapters: The great creative writing of the 'Laramie' series is respectfully acknowledged. My stories are purely for pleasure and are inspired by the talents of the original authors, producers and actors._


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